And All The Lights Went Out
by Scavenge-4-Dreams
Summary: Part Eight of As Easy As... Tony, seriously ill, is benched from the team during a fight. War Machine steps up to help out. And then an EMP blast takes out a good portion of New York and all communications. Without power, how long until the armour becomes a coffin? And how is Steve supposed to tell Tony that his best friend was killed- in his place.
1. Average Psychopath

Chapter 1:

 _Baby, I miss you and I swear I'm gonna change, trust me._

 _Remember how that lasted for a day?_

 _I say, "I hate you," we break up, you call me, "I love you._

A harsh right hook sent the bag spiralling out of control, only to be brought up short by the responding jab. A loud _thud_ echoed through the near empty gym as Steve drew his gloved fists in tight, skipping and weaving in time to the music that pumped through his headphones, the occasional jab meeting the resistance of the punching bag.

 _Ooh, we called it off again last night,_

 _But ooh, this time I'm telling you, I'm telling you_

Tension that he'd been carrying about with him for the past few days warred with his sense of responsibility, and Steve threw himself into the work-out. He'd hit the gym twice every day for the past week, often three times, yet still hadn't managed to rid himself of the unease that had settled over him. He couldn't stand the hopelessness that this current situation made him feel- he just wanted to _fix_ everything. Unfortunately, this wasn't something he could actually fix, and it was frustrating him something awful.

As was the fact that Tony was refusing to be reasonable. This shouldn't surprise Steve- actually, it _didn't_ surprise Steve, but he'd still hoped… watching Tony slowly crash and burn was just about killing him- hence the frustration. The intense workouts did however, do a fairly decent job of numbing him into a state of exhaustion, as it had tonight.

A roundhouse kick ended his evening session, and Steve stilled, doubling over to rest his hands on his knees as he breathed steadily through his nose, dragging a forearm across his face, wiping away sweat and brushing his damp hair back.

 _We are never ever ever getting back together,_

 _We are never ever ever getting back together,_

 _You go talk to your friends, talk to my friends, talk to me_

 _But we are never ever ever ever getting back together_

Grabbing his drink from the bench and straightening, one hand settling on his hip, the other bringing the bottle to his lips, Steve sang, "Like- Ever", before taking a long drag of water.

A growl from his stomach and a glance at his watch, he pulled the headphones from his ears and headed toward the showers.

After a long workout to top off an even longer day, he was really looking forward to being clean and dry. Then he was going to slump in the lounge with the rest of the team and devour as many pizza's as they'd though to order, while watching what would no doubt be a terrible movie, as it was Clint's turn to pick. If it was a boring enough movie, maybe Tony would even fall sleep for a few hours, assisted by the calming influence of Steve's fingers in his hair.

Which was no doubt why, as he started to peel his drenched shirt over his head, the blaring klaxon of the Assemble alarm started to sound.

* * *

"Hawkeye, Widow – status?" Steve shouted as he ran, knowing that JARVIS would relay the message within the building.

Sure enough, within seconds, Clint's voice was being piped into the hallway, "On the move Cap- we need five to gear up. Quinjet?"

Steve banked a corner and slowed only slightly as the elevator doors swept open before him. "To the Penthouse, JARVIS", Steve said, continuing as he started to ascend, "If I'm not at the jet when you guys get there, go without me, I'll take the bike."

"What about me?" Bruce's calm voice broke in.

"Go with the jet, on standby. At least until we've assessed the situation." Steve replied, "I'll contact Fury enroute and get a SitRep- I have something I need to do before I leave."

Bruce's immediate chuckle and "Good Luck", mirrored Steve's feeling's exactly, and suddenly feeling foolish for his optimism, he changed his command, "Aah, actually – workshop, please, JARVIS"

* * *

"No." Steve's voice was stony with disbelieving, anger and concern.

Tony, half encased in his signature red and gold, visibly blanched, stilling as he looked up from where he was sitting on the floor of the workshop, propped up against the workbench behind him. Slipping his hand into the gauntlet he'd been attempting to fiddle with, the screwdriver slipping from lax fingers, he protested, "I swear I'm battle ready! -just a minor glitch in the gauntlet's firing-"

Crossing the room in several large steps, Steve cut him off, "Tony. You've been running a fever of 104 for three days. Not to mention the dizziness and throwing up everything that comes within three feet of your mouth. You really think I'm going to let you anywhere near a battlefield right now?"

"Wait- you're, you're benching me! _You_? The same guy who fought last month with his arm half hanging off?" Tony snarled back, pushing himself to his feet, grip tight enough on the bench edge that Steve could hear the metal groan.

"That's slightly different Tony, and you know it. I was already part of the fight, before I got injured, and I was already healing. _And_ I didn't spend the two days before light headed and swaying all over the place because I refused to be in bed where I belonged. It was an all hands on deck situation. We needed everyone."

Tony latched onto that like a particularly tenacious dog with a chew toy "And what if this one is as well? What if you need me? Thor's not here – I'm your only areal support- what if you need me!?" he exclaimed, incredulous and defensive on the surface, but plaintive and desperate beneath.

"We do need you! I need you! Alive, which is why you're not going!" Steve shot back, and then lunged forward to shoulder the weight of the toppling armour as Tony moved too suddenly and stumbled.

Tony pulled away sharply, and Steve threw his hands in the air and watched as Tony managed to steady himself, bodily using the heavy workbench as a crutch. Cradling his helmet to his chest, Tony snapped back, "You really think you could stop me?" the strength of the suit bolstering him in a way that the pallor of his waxen skin did not.

Steve wasn't fooled. He didn't think he'd have to. He doubted Tony could get two foot in the air without face planting at the moment. But then- he also knew Tony, and _no one_ did stubborn, pigheaded and brilliant quite like a pissed off Tony Stark.

"I'll tie you to the bed If I have to" Steve threatened.

He wouldn't. And Tony likely knew that.

"You'd lose my trust if you did. You wouldn't risk that" Tony snarled back.

Steve nodded his agreement, "Just like you'll lose mine if you put being Ironman above your own health. And apparently _you_ would risk that."

Tony glowered at him, stare baleful and unforgiving of Steve's harsh demand. And then Tony made his choice.

Not the one he'd _wanted_ to make, if the rage filled shriek and red/gold blur that sailed through the air and smashed into a set of wall shelves on the other side of the room was indicative of anything.

Steve didn't judge. He knew, first hand, how much that decision had cost Tony, and if anyone understood a little rage induced throwing of objects, it was Steve. Still, he sighed when Tony crossed his arms defensively and turned away as he reached for him.

"Hey – I'm sorry. I am. I just – you're not in any shape and it would be more-" Steve tried placating, his hands settling on Tony's drawn up shoulders.

"I know- I know. Just - It's fine, Steve. Go. Just -go." Tony answered defeatedly.

Steve shook his head, running his hands down Tony's arms as his shoulders slumped dejectedly, "Tony-"

"Go! Your team needs you, Captain. I'll just be-" Tony was getting waspish, and sarcastic again, which didn't bode well for Steve and the continuing of this conversation.

With a sigh, Steve pressed a quick kiss to sweaty hair and damp skin. "Please- get some rest" was all he said, before turning and leaving the workshop.

Tony wasn't known for his graceful surrenders, but then, he wasn't really known for surrendering at all, so Steve was counting it as a win.

* * *

Abandoning his bike against a half demolished wall, Steve stooped low to press flat, seeking cover against the half demolished building that the wall belonged to. He had a feeling this was going to be more 'End of the World' than 'Lazy Sunday Afternoon'.

Whatever or whoever was responsible for the damage was also somehow jamming their communications. Steve had managed to decipher a few garbled words from the cacophony that was still streaming from his ear piece, but beyond a general feel that the enemy was causing them no end of grief, he was going in blind.

Step one, locate the enemy.

Staying low as he scrambled across a pile of concrete and rubble, Steve rounded the corner of the building, looking for something large enough to have caused the varying degrees of destruction that surrounded him. Something large enough to blot out the last rays of the setting sun. Something that towered over the Manhattan skyline.

At the end of the street, half hidden by the early evening shadows, stood a man.

On the shorter side of 6", the plumper side of healthy and the older side of 40, he was in all senses of the word; average.

His clothing was clean- too clean, and too well pressed. The creases of his dress pants slightly off-centre, and his buttoned down shirt ill-fitting, still holding its manufactory stiffness, fold lines visible where the shirt pouched around too broad shoulders. Behind the off the shelf geometric design that was his tie, Steve cold see buttons that attempted to gape across a too large stomach, yet held tenaciously to their cloth. Balding at the crown and temples, his thinning hair was slicked back along his part line, hair that would have been almost distinguished with its touches of natural grey, an abomination of cheap watery hair dye.

This man was a desperate, deranged, crazy kind of dangerous.

Step 2: Locate his team

Steve took two tentative steps forward, his gaze going high and wide as he searched for a flash of red and black, or deep purple somewhere in his field of vision. He knew he wouldn't see the cloaked quinjet, but considering the extent of the damage in the surrounding streets, he wouldn't be surprised to see green.

Perhaps he was illuminated by the burning foliage of a nearby park, but his presence suddenly seemed to startle the man at the far end of the street, if the overstated double take was to be believed. As the man looked up from his awkward stoop, Steve realised that he'd actually been engrossed by his phone of all things, the gleam of the familiar Starktech catching the brightening moonlight as he fumbled to shove it back into the leather satchel he had slung over one shoulder. It wasn't until he pulled his hand back out, that Steve realised all the fumbling hadn't been just returning the phone. A spherical object, its glossy black form mostly lost to shadow, but with enough angular gleam to just make out in the dusky light. The lines of pulsing digital blue creeping across its surface were much more visible.

He turned and lobbed it at Steve.

It sailed through the air, a steadily deteriorating arc, to land with a skidding thud several feet away. Steve crooked his head at it, watching it wobble back and forth before stilling. When nothing happened after a second, idle curiosity had him stepping towards it.

"Cap!"

A purple blur smashed into his side, propelling him towards the nearest building, Clint's uncharacteristically panicked voice "Move! Get Down!".

Steve felt the heat of the blast radius tickle the back of his neck a sensitive pink.

* * *

Steve rolled to his feet, crouching low to remain behind the burnout shell of some poor civilians Jeep Wrangler. His ears still ringing from the explosive boom, he reached blindly for where he thought Clint had ended up, half beside him, half beneath.

"Hawk- Hawkeye!" He choked on the acrid smoke clinging to his nasal passages and lingering in the air around them, making his eyes water. "Clint- report!"

He wasn't truly worried that the archer was mortally injured, as the hacking rasp Clint was making sounded more irritated than anything else.

He gave the other man half a second to catch his breath, and then Clint was wheezing out a reply "A-Okay here. Just a little singed. Welcome to the p- Hmm, maybe Nat's right. Not a party. Welcome to 'majorly pissed' on fifth avenue. Glad you could make it."

Steve snorted. He supposed he should just be glad Tony wasn't there to encourage the wisecracking and banter. "Glad to be here. What's the situation?" he started to lean backward, intending on getting his head past the wheel to get a glimpse of the open street, but Clint's hand found the collar of his uniform and reefed him back in.

"I'm advising against that, Cap. If he sees you, he'll throw another of those little firecrackers." Clint explained, continuing, "Or worse. He's got himself quite the bag of tricks. "

Leaning back against the still warm metal of the vehicle door, Steve thumbed at the useless comm in his ear, confirming "He's jamming the signal?"

"Yeah – mostly. We get snatches from each other and Shied occasionally, but it's too garbled to make any sense of. Nat- she's behind the Stark Industries billboard about 30 feet up the road- Nat managed to speak to Fury and arranged an Evac for Banner-"

Steve started, alarmed, "Bruce? What happened to-"

Clint grimaced, answering, "He's- okay, we think. The first ball thingy landed beneath the quinjet as we were landing. Bruce hulked- naturally. He attempted to 'SMASH' Mr original out there, but – I don't know. There's a force-field or a barrier or something around him. Hulk hit the thing fuelled by all his hulk rage, lit the surrounding three meters up with glowy blue electric sparks and then keeled over- reverting to Bruce straight away. Nat managed to get him out of sight while I played chicken with the lunatic- so I'm assuming that Shield has their best and brightest working on the problem." He waited a beat, as if deliberating, and then continued, "I'd feel a hell of a lot better having our best and bright-"

"No. Tony's not-" Steve refused adamantly.

Clint cut across him placatingly- "No- not out here. He'd get himself killed. Just to run science back-up. Someone can get what's left of one of these ball things to him- even half dead he's a hell of a lot better and brighter than Shields best."

Steve shook his head as he tried to explain, "He's more than just a bit off colour- He was trying to get into the armour before I left- sitting on the floor in his workshop. He was too dizzy to stand up while the armour deployed properly."

Clint nodded in agreement, replying, "Yeah I know- I saw him this morning, white as a ghost- looked like crap. But he created the suit –how's this go? In a cave with a box of scraps? We're sitting ducks out here- and I do mean sitting. Nat and I can't get close to him. Bullets, arrows, knives- nothing gets through the barrier- and everytime one of us pops our head up, he throws a ball. Tony woul-"

"Tony would drag himself into the workshop, examine an explosive with hands that couldn't hold a screwdriver steady this afternoon! I don't doubt that he'd be able to work out a way to disable the things, but he'd half kill himself in the process! And that doesn't even begin to cover what he'd do once he'd worked out how to stop this idiot- he'd be long gone before the Shield agent he duped worked out he wasn't in the workshop! And then he'd show up here…where some idiot is throwing live grenades and he can't even stand-up straight!"

Clint didn't say anything.

Steve sighed, "Sorry. I-"

Clint waved his apology away, "Don't. –You're right. I keep forgetting that Tony has to be assessed with a whole other set of parameters. You know I'd never do anything t-"

"I know" Steve replied.

Silence settled between them, other than the occasional pop of smouldering metal.

"So."

"So."

"So, if you two are finished braiding each other's hair, I suggest we come up with a plan to stop Mr deranged and dangerous out there. Preferably one that doesn't involve Tony Stark throwing his fever addled self into the barrier. " Natasha concluded.

* * *

The plan, as it turned out, wasn't so much a plan as a continuation of 'sitting pretty', with the occasional distractory shield throw causing retaliatory explosive balls being lobbed about the street. They'd attempted to come at him from different, and multiple angles, with all methods of penetrative fire attempted, to no avail. They'd tried simply asking, goading, demanding and intimidating him into _any_ action other than to throw more explosives.

Shield had managed to get one slightly less garbled message through, but it amounted to little more than "We don't know. Anything. "

Night had fallen completely, and they were engulfed in a blanket of shadowy half-light. Several street lights where valiantly attempting to shine, and a few lingering areas of burning debris illuminated the area, but visibility wasn't great. The fact that the barrier had a subtle blue glow was the only advantage to the darkness. They were, in short, running out of ideas, projectile weapons and energy.

Which was why the back-up that crashed to the street in an ungainly thud of metal crunching on tarmac was a particularly welcome addition to the fight.

The grenade ball that exploded at the feet of the metal suit not two seconds later was less so.

Steve watched horror struck as fire engulfed the armour, the _whoof_ of flames barely louder than his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

And then – gleaming metal simply stepped from the blaze as if not effected at all, and Steve rejoiced at Tony's absolute genius.

War Machine thudded along the street, firing round after round of repulsor blasts at the barrier, which held, held, held and finally- flickered, for a fraction of an instant within a second.

And an idea burst to technicolour dream life inside Clint's mind.

* * *

"Higher! Further than he can throw for contact!" Clint ordered, watching with satisfaction as War Machine climbed higher in the sky, a dull silver lost amongst the stars that dotted the evening sky.

Clint lined up his shot – arrow set and bow drawn "Okay…. Now!"

High above, War Machine opened up its arsenal, raining a fiery torrential downpour on the unfortunate barrier below. The distance extended the amount of time, and Steve and Nat were kept busy avoiding tossed grenades with increasing fervour and desperation.

And then suddenly, the break Clint had been waiting for- the shield faltered. The arrow, with its EMP blast-tip, slipped through that infinitesimal gap, and struck the centre of the bag slung over the mans shoulder.

Nothing happened.

And then simultaneously, the barrier began to falter, and the bag sparked.

Sparked and then ignited. The explosion so sudden that Steve didn't even have time to shield his face as bright light assaulted his eyes, searing white hot flashes into his vision. The first waves of flame were contained by the failing barrier, creeping along the ground with fingers of blue and white amid orange and red, coiling up the invisible wall within convoluted spirals and feathering.

The area, previously peppered with illumination, suddenly became lit by only a muted wash of fiery orange glow. One by one, like a blanket of darkness being dragged across the city, spreading rapidly- street lights, car lights, the occasional cell phone of a civilian seriously lacking in the common-sense department and a whole society of other electrical lighting methods, - all the lights went out and a portion of New York was plunged into complete darkness.

And from the epicentre of the sudden black-out, a roaring column of flame jetted into the sky. Forcibly expelled through the widening crack at the top of the dome as the barrier fell, its widening arc lit the night sky.

And in that gleam of that light, Steve caught a glimmer of dull silver from the corner of his eye. Dragging his vigilant gaze from the smouldering wreck within the destroyed dome to watch the triumphant arc of the War Machine back to earth, it took Steve a second too long to realize.

The armour was too dark. All the pilot and control lights were out.

A mess of pin-wheeling arms and legs, Tony's best friend disappeared from Steve's line of sight- swallowed by inky blackness.


	2. Dark Is The Night

The shield split the air with an almost silent whistle, Steve just able to make out the glint of an edge that caught the valiantly glowing ray of a streetlight as it arced through the sky. It crashed into the almost-invisible barrier, lighting the area with a brilliant flash of electric blue that was so reminiscent of something else that it almost turned Steve stomach, to be associating that shine with malevolence and madness.

The metal disc ricocheted away wildly, its path unpredictable and erratic. Steve rolled from behind the trash can he was crouched beside, racing across the empty street, trying to track the direction of his shield as it sailed overhead.

A screeching metallic thud from behind him set his nerves afire, and he dove for cover as an explosion from only feet behind him enveloped him in searing heat.

It had been the same story for the past half hour. Steve, Clint and Natasha took it in turns trying to penetrate, bludgeon or explode the ever present barrier, and got exploding softballs lobbed at them for their trouble. Communications were almost entirely down, both between the team and the external lines to SHIELD, which made concocting anything more than half-baked 'throw stuff at the guy' plans, almost impossible.

Without contact with SHIELD, they had no idea who this guy was, his back story, his end game, nor any potential weaknesses. While this did make the fight much more difficult, because they were essentially blind, they weren't exactly hopeless. Each had been in the field without back-up enough times to be a deadly weapon in their own right, but without inter-team communication to hash out strategy and exchange ideas, information and knowledge, they were basically relegated to 'evade and distract' with the occasional individual attempt to destroy or disrupt the barrier and the madman within.

The steady explosions that had been rocking his section of the street ceased, and Steve risked a glance around the corner, prepared to pull back at any provocation, but relaxed slightly when he saw that Clint was distracting their foe, firing useless arrows against the shield in a continuous volley.

Steve used the distraction for its intended purpose, and slipped out from behind the building, racing across the street and behind the fallen billboard that they had been using as a 'rendezvous point' every few minutes.

Natasha was already there, her black suit a gleam in the inky darkness the billboard provided.

"This is useless! We've not even made an impact-" She snarled as he hunched down beside her, her eyes raking his form- looking for singeing, burning and blood, no doubt the same way his were assessing her own form.

"I know. It's that barrier thing- nothing we do seems to even register… and I don't know how he has so many of those ball explosive things in that bag, but he doesn't seem to be running out." Steve reported, reaching over to smooth some grime from her upper bicep, noting a tiny rent in the leather, but thankfully, no blood.

"I'm fine. More worried about you for a moment there- wait, where's your Shield?" she asked, glancing about for the ever present weapon.

Steve sighed, shrugging dejectedly, "That way- somewhere…I got cornered after that last volley, and missed where it landed."

Natasha swore quietly in Russian. The Shield, while not seeming to do any damage to the barrier, was the only thing that even seemed to noticeably interact with it, impact creating a loud thud and that brilliant flash of light. Arrows, bullets and knives just bounced off, unnoticed.

The explosions suddenly veered away from the opposite end of the street, coming frightfully closer to their current location, heat and light seeping around the edges of the billboard.

Steve was ready, and grabbed Clint as he hurtled into their sheltered area, dragging him to a squat, pressed up against the huge sign. And not a second too soon, as the first of no doubt many jets of exploding flame licked at the space Clint had just been.

They'd discovered, more by accident than any deliberate research, that the three or so foot of space at the base of the far side of the billboard was out of vantage of the explosive balls the man was throwing. The distance and angle too great to go around or over. Their relative safety was interrupted on occasion by nearby explosions and flying embers caught by the wind, as their enemy was both very persistent and rather thick, and insisted on continuing to throw the balls toward their position.

Clint, breathing only slightly heavier than normal, threw his bow to the ground in disgust. This alone spoke more to Steve of his fellow Avengers current temperament than most else would. The man simply adored that bow. Steve was sure Clint tucked it into bed every night with a peck on the cheek and an 'I love you'. The archer was frustrated, tired, angry and getting more dissolutioned by the minute.

He was also very nearly out of arrows, Steve noted, eyeing the mostly empty quiver.

They needed a new plan. A new method of attack.

"I think we need to get into contact with SHEILD. Get some intel, and maybe some back-up." Steve recommended, not liking the need for help, but sensible enough to admit that they were pummelling a brick wall. Which, given the fact that he had super-serum enhanced strength, probably wasn't the best metaphor, but the general gist still stood.

Clint was nodding, but questioned, "How? Comms are shit, and who know how far that stretches? And as far as back–up is concerned, if we can't have Tony…" he trailed off, almost questioningly.

Steve winced, deliberating, but shook his head shortly after, replying, "Not until we exhaust every other avenue…Clint, make a runner for HQ, as soon as you get decent communications, get some info and get us some back-up. Thor if he's in contact, or maybe some of the X-men? A heavy hitter. Maybe- god, Tony's going to kill me…maybe see if Ried has any insights… " Steve ordered.

The sudden sound of repulsors made Steve flinch, irrationally sure that Tony had somehow heard him, before he shook himself and leapt to his feet, suddenly doubly sure that Tony had broken his trust and was **here.**

Sick, feverish, lightheaded, dizzy and out-of-it enough to have added salt to his coffee that morning, and to have fallen asleep at the breakfast table… **here,** in the suit ready to get himself killed.

A thud, and the distinctive sound of metal landing heavily on tarmac. Steve bracing himself for the shock of seeing red and gold, holding himself back from just sprinting into plain view, crash tackling Tony and dragging him behind cover, carefully peered from behind the billboard.

The smile that broke across his face was nothing short of stunned relief, as he took in the large- too bulky to be Ironman- dull silver metal exoskeleton, heavily armoured and weighed down with weaponry.

War Machine.

* * *

Going into battle with War Machine at his side was not something Steve had done very often; Colonel Rhodes had a lot of military duties and responsibilities that kept him from the general Avengers roster, and besides, Ironman usually filled their 'Aerial Tank' capacity- with zeal.

On occasion though, like this one, where the team was shorthanded, and his particular strengths were warranted, SHEILD would 'borrow' the Colonels time, for lack of a better term. Steve supposed, there were worse things than being at the beck and call of the Agency that had essentially saved the world, and he figured that the military 'powers that be' likely agreed.

Fighting alongside War Machine wasn't dissimilar to fighting alongside Ironman, mechanically speaking. They had much the same strengths and powers, and employed them in similar ways. Of course, there were several overt differences- War Machine had a lot more heavy artillery than Ironman, but lacked some of the manoeuvrability of Tony's suit. Similar enough though, that even from the first time they'd gone into battle together, Steve had been roughly aware of the suits capabilities, and had quickly learnt that, like Tony, the man inside the silver suit was incredibly adaptable and learnt well on the fly.

Logistically speaking though, that was where the similarities ended.

Fighting alongside War Machine was like fighting with a practical, rational and dependable version of Ironman. In short, it was nothing like fighting with Ironman.

Rhodes was calm and collected where Ironman was hot-headed and impulsive. Predictable and sensible when Tony was reckless and impetuous. Rhodes had responsibility and sensibility ingrained in him by the military, and his own steadfast nature.

The Colonel would be where he was meant to be, when he was meant to be there, back who he was meant to back, retreat when ordered to retreat and could follow orders like his robotic shell suggested.

He and Steve were of a mindset, and worked together with a practiced ease that spoke of their military groundings.

It was nothing like the seamless perfection he'd almost instantly developed with Ironman, an incredible synergy based entirely on instinct and reflex, between two fighting styles that should have clashed horribly.

Steve wouldn't hesitate to fight back-to-back with Tony in any circumstances, but in those when he wasn't available…The Lieutenant Colonel was an apt stand in.

More than just an ally to fight alongside when there was humanity to be safeguarded, Rhodes had become a close friend. Initially, they had been drawn together by their mutually overdeveloped protectiveness and desire to save Tony from his own lack of self-preservation, but over a relatively short period the two men had become friends in their own right.

Of those other 'super-beings' who occasionally helped out when the situation was dire enough, but were not actual 'Avengers', it was Rhodes they saw most often at the tower, as the man liked to drop in whenever he was home from tour, to ensure that Tony hadn't managed to off himself. Steve found that he enjoyed the man's dry humour, his quiet intellect and the way he _put up with absolutely no shit_ from Tony.

He supposed it was one of the benefits of having known Tony since he was tiny genius Bambi, angsting all over campus. Rhodes words, not Steve's.

Which was another, and perhaps the most important reason why this man had become so very important to Steve personally, and so very quickly. He was perhaps the most central person in Tony's life.

Up there with the devoted Jarvis (both versions), the longsuffering Pepper, faithful Happy and, at least Steve hoped, he himself.

Rhodes was the last anchoring block in Tony's life, still steadfast and holding, from a period where everything had been misery and turmoil. The first true friend that Tony had ever made, just for himself, and not for whatever Rhodey had to offer the company, Tony's reputation, the wants of society. Just because Tony had needed a friend. He was also the only friend who had _never_ let Tony down, in any capacity, be it by lying, betraying, stealing, leaving or dying.

Tony had never come out and said it as such, but Steve was fairly certain that all of Tony's relationships, and potential thereof, were subconsciously measured and categorised on the 'Rhodey' scale. Most were found wanting.

In short, Rhodey was Tony's best friend, brother and confidant. More than that though, and the only way Steve could describe it with enough emphasis…

Rhodey was Tony's Bucky.

And Steve was watching him fall.

* * *

His eyes locked on the tumbling form, dull silver glinting and gleaming by the light of the roaring jet of fire, Steve watched with unspeakable dread as Rhodes plummeted toward the ground.

Steve, gaze still caught on dark silver, waiting and hoping for the lights to reboot, as the Ironman suit had done after the Chitauri, barely noticed the dome flickering and sparking behind him.

And then it collapsed inward, consuming everything in its path, until it reached its own centre and seeped upward, eroding the base of the jet of flame. The sky _roared_ , like a jet passing just overhead, and the column spluttered spasmodically and arced out in brilliant whips of fire.

And then just, _went out._

Without the jet of flame to provide light, the outer areas were plunged into darkness, and Steve caught one final silver glimmer, still falling, before the inky darkness ate War Machine as well.

* * *

The surrounding darkness wasn't all that enveloping, once Steve's eyes had adjusted from the sudden change. It was dark, very dark, especially for in the middle of the city, but the flaming remnants of several explosions that burnt and licked at nearby debris provided enough light to see in the nearby area.

Worry eating at his gut, Steve hurried across the street to where their enemy had been safely ensconced in his dome until Clint and Rhodey had managed to turn the tables on him. Cautiously climbing over the rubble, and down into the crater, Steve checked 'destroy enemy' off his to do list. The area was completely demolished. Anything that had been inside the dome at the time of the explosion had been consumed by the reaction of Clint's arrow interacting with the dome.

Scrambling back up the side of the deep crater, Steve was about to set about looking for the rest of his team mates, when his shield suddenly appeared in his face.

Clint's sooty, but smiling face, peered at him from behind the meatal sphere. Steve accepted it from him with a nod, slinging the weapon onto his back, as Clint asked, "That did it then?–dude's all crispy?"

Steve nodded, answering, "Yeah, he's done. – Where's widow. We have a situation", looking around for the other assassin.

"Here, Steve", Natasha replied from his other side, and Steve didn't jump, although it was a close thing, "What's going on?"

Steve explained, "Whatever the dome did, that EMP effect or whatever, it shorted out Rhodes suit as well. I saw him fall, and I haven't seen him since. So, until we know differently, we need to assume that War Machine is down, and in need of assistance"

All traces of joviality and relief left Clint's person as he straightened and went back into 'Hawkeye' mode, "Do you have a direction, or likely location?"

Steve nodded, thinking back, "West. Toward…toward the harbour. It was dark, and he had no pilot lights, so I couldn't judge where he was going to come down- but that general area."

Steve tried not to think of dark fathomless depths of freezing cold water seeping, swallowing-

"We're in total blackout. No comms, no lighting- Electricity is down. I can't even hear any vehicles for at least…several miles. How do you want to handle this, Cap?" Clint pulled him out of his mind, and Steve snapped to.

"The area's too big, and in this darkness, we're going to need back-up. More sets of eyes." Steve thought for a moment, strategizing, planning, and then continued to the two patiently waiting agents, "Widow, make a run. As soon as you're out of the blast zone, get us some cells or something we can use as comms, call into Fury and get us some back up, and then get back here. Clint and I'll begin to search. "

Natasha nodded, palming a flashlight from a pocket somewhere and flicking it on, asking, "Stark Tower?"

Steve glanced in the direction of the Tower in the near distance, relieved to note that the mammoth skyscraper was still alit as it reached for the heavens, despite the darkness surrounding it. The arc-powered building had withstood the EMP blast. It was likely that the miniaturized one somewhere inside was equally fine. Grimacing, he rubbed a hand across his mouth as he quickly ran over the data in his head.

Taking whether or not Tony would _want_ to be here completely out of the occasion for now, it was entirely plausible…it was _likely_ , that Tony had a method of locating the War Machine suit. Whether it was as unaffected by the EMP as the arc-reactor was uncertain, but it was Tony's personal tech…so chances were fair to middling.

Tony was also the one with the most in-depth knowledge of what his suits (and yes, the War Machine was still _his_ suit, for all that it was also Rhodey's) capabilities were. What it could handle. And what it couldn't.

The problem was that Tony didn't know what his own capabilities were. What he could handle. And what he couldn't. Steve could see Tony killing himself trying to save his best frie-

He'd have killed himself to save Bucky.

"Get Tony." Steve answered Natasha.

* * *

Looking was slow.

Slow, tedious, frustrating, worrying and nerve wracking.

Steve was half expecting, and wholeheartedly hoping, that Rhodes would stroll around the corner of the nearest building, and ask what was going on.

Every building was a potential hiding place- the War Machine was heavy enough to crash through several layers of cement, not to mention ply-board or fibros. He could be on any level, in any room of any of the buildings surrounding the harbour. He could be in any alley, street, or empty lot in the area. He could be in the water.

Steve and Clint agreed upon _not_ splitting up. The area was large enough, with enough nooks and crannies, that two of them searching separately, would cover no more ground than searching together. At least if they scanned the same area at the same time, there was less chance that they'd overlook the dull gleam of silver behind a dumpster, or in the backroom of the local haberdashery.

Ten minutes after the power went out, and the explosions stopped, no doubt spurned by news of Captain America and Hawkye searching nearby apartments, several civilians began to converge on the street where the battle had taken place.

Some looked scared, a few were angrily waving dead cell phones, but most were simply a mix of curious, thankful and awestruck.

Of course, the angriest ones were loudest.

"-My phone was brand new!"

"Inconsiderate! Take some responsibility!"

"Is this how you 'help' us! I don't have the money t-"

It didn't seem to matter how much the others told them to shut up, to be grateful, that Steve and the others had saved the day again…they just kept getting louder and angrier.

And of course, the noise kept drawing more and more people from their homes.

And making it harder and harder to hear if there was anyone calling for help.

Steve was just starting to get worried that they were going to be dealing with an angry civilian mob, or fighting breaking out among the naysayers and the defenders, when Clint swore viciously, handed his flashlight to Steve and stalked murderously out of the alley they were searching.

Steve, despite the urge to continue searching, moved to the mouth of the alley to watch, and provide back up if needed. Which was highly unlikely, seeing as Hawkeye could take out the entire 50 strong group in a matter of minutes if he was so inclined.

The archer climbed up onto the roof of a darkened SUV, cupped his hands around his mouth and _shouted,_ " **SHUT-UP!** "

Steve snickered at the dumbfounded silence that descended over the gathered group.

And then one of the angriest citizens realised he had a captive audience, that one of the Avengers was actually addressing them off the cuff, and he shoved through the crowd to shout his grievances.

"You! All our power is out, everything is dead! My cell won't turn on-"

And just like that, the tide turned again.

Steve was about to interrupt, and hope that his status as 'America's golden boy' might have some luck at placating the growing horde, when Clint reached down, fisted a hand in the back of the instigators collar, and _dragged him onto the roof of the truck._

Silence fell again, as awestruck, and a little fearful, the audience watched on to see what Clint would do.

The man Clint had dragged up onto the hood of the car with him shrunk back, seemingly just realising/remembering, that this 5'9 guy in spandex could shoot the wings off a fly, scale 90 story buildings and fought off alien invasions.

Only Clint's hand on his shoulder stopped him from slipping off the roof off the vehicle.

"For fucks sake, calm down. We're the good guys, remember?" and just like that, Clint turned the guy.

Looking ashamed, the man rubbed the back of his neck while mumbling, "Yeah. Sorry- I just. My wife volunteers at a shelter in a rough area, and I need to be able to contact her."

Clint nodded, speaking to the man but loudly enough for everyone to hear, "We're working on restoring communications now. There should be back-up arriving soon, and we'll set up some sort of way for people who need to make a call to do so."

Most people appeared more than mollified, but as always, someone had to try to stir the pot "-And what about our phones!? And other electrical goods! I don't have the money to-"

Clint didn't have to cut off the disembodied voice from the back of the crowd, as a large motherly looking lady near the front turned and did it for him, shouting, "Shame on you! These good boys and girl risked their lives tonight to save yours, and mine and everyone's here! What's money when compared to a life! That-"

Clint, seeing that this could start another riot, as people got pulled in on both sides of the argument, gently broke in, "Thank-you Ma-am, we truly appreciate the support.", and then louder, "We understand that money is important when you're short of it, but come on, you guys! The Avenger's repay our debts! You all know who I work with and where I live! I swear that Tony will replace each and every phone killed by the blast tonight with his new prototype- that's not even on the market yet! And he'll cover the repairs/replacement of any other equipment that was damaged as a result of tonight".

Steve winced, wondering how Tony was going to take being told he was replacing everything damaged in a four block radius, but knowing Tony… he'd have suggested it himself if he was here. And Clint making sure that the crowd knew who was responsible for the act of goodwill. Not Stark Industries, a faceless fortune 500 corporation, but Tony Stark, a hero. One of them.

It had taken only Clint two minutes to settle a crowd on the verge of rioting. Steve remembered to make note of it in Clint's dossier, the archer was nowhere near as bad at 'face-time' as he liked to make out.

Clint wasn't quite done yet.

"Now, we have a man down. He's out there somewhere, and we need to find him as quickly as possible. You lot being loud is making that hard, so either go home or be qui-"

Steve saw it as well.

The entire crowd, as one, morphed from happy, relived and thankful, to concerned.

Concern. For them.

Steve saw the instant Clint had the brainwave, and he almost grinned as Clint called, "Actually, Scratch that. Everyone spread out and start looking- One thousand dollars to the person who finds War Machine!"

The group looked stunned. They were being asked to _help the Avengers!_

Clint whistled shrilly, and shouted, "Wait, did I say One Thousand? I meant One Million! And for those of you who don't know- War Machine, also known by his girly name, Iron Patriot- is the one who looks like Ironman's older brother – Bigger and silver!"

* * *

With their civilian helpers fanned out across the 'search grid' Steve felt a sense of hope; they were coving ground at a phenomenal rate. He was mildly concerned that some of the searchers wouldn't look well enough, but with the reward money up for grabs he hoped that there would be enough going over the area with a fine tooth comb to negate any carless lookers.

Clint was a genius.

Bruce agreed with the sentiment when he showed up on site five minutes later.

"Natasha called it in, gave SHIELD the run down. She's on her way to the Tower now to get Tony. She might be a little while- They can only car in as far as the blast radius, whatever happened is still having a residual effect on anything that crosses the line. Not killing it completely like the actual blast, but like the interference from before- hence me on foot and no comms."

Steve understood what Bruce was saying. With Tony as ill as he was, moving fast was going to be problematic, but Steve trusted Natasha to get him here as soon as possible.

"And you're okay?" Steve asked, and at Bruce's nod, he continued, "Okay. We've got a bunch of people that need to make contact with loved ones- how can we help them?"

Bruce nodded, "SHIELD is set up just passed the radius, they have phones and service. They're attempting to get some of their equipment working properly, then they'll bring back–up. If you send whoever needs help down Main Avenue, they should walk right into SHEILD"

Steve nodded, before calling "Nebbins!?" and waited for the grapevine to do its thing, as the message was passed along until it reached the man Clint had man-handled earlier.

He jogged up, looking relatively unflustered to be speaking to Captain America, "Sir?"

Normally Steve would correct him to 'just Steve', but he didn't waste the time, replying, "You take anyone who needs to make a call two blocks down Main Avenue. SHIELD is waiting. Find Agent- " Steve looked at Bruce questioningly, who replied, "McCarthy", and Steve continued with a nod, "Agent McCarthy- tell him I sent you, and that you're all to be assisted in contacting loved ones."

Nibbins nodded, and set about gathering up anyone else who needed to make a call.

Steve turned back to Bruce, saying, "So we've got a search grid happening, and we know he must be in this approximate area- any suggestions to help?"

Bruce looked thoughtful, gazing around the area, able to make out the dark shapes of people disappearing into apartments, alleys and around corners, and then he frowned, asking "Why is no one calling his name?"

Steve gaped.

Bruce nodded, and shouted loudly, "Listen up! The suit is not sound proof- he will be able to hear you, so everyone get yelling. Call 'War Machine' or 'Rhodes-, actually, call 'Rhodey'!" his voice boomed into the area, echoing, and it was so atypical the quiet scientist that Steve couldn't help but stare.

"What?" Bruce asked, "He's my friend too".

Realising that he was talking to the one man, outside Rhodey and Tony himself, who knew a bit about the suits, Steve asked, "Any other specs on the suit? Any time frames?"

He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

It turns out he didn't.

Bruce visibly blanched, answering urgently- "The suits are all closed circuit. They have life support- it's airtight."

Bruce's revelation set them on an urgent path, everyone frantically looking, calling the Colonel's name and dashing up and down streets and into buildings. Several had even waded into the freezing water as deep as they could go, hoping to stumble across metal hidden beneath the waves.

That was the only plus to being airtight, the suit was also water tight.

Bruce had calculated only a three hour window until death.

Hypoxia, unconsciousness, coma and brain damage all fell much earlier on the time line.

* * *

They'd been urgently searching for nearly forty minutes when the excited buzzing whisper made its way along the line of searchers, and Steve spun, hoping against hope that someone had found-

It was Natasha, sprinting up the middle of the street, swerving around some obstacles, lunging over others. She was panting when she skidded to a stop before Steve. He'd never seen her breathless. He wondered just how hard she's pressed herself. He wondered why.

She spoke with an almost breathless urgency, "He's not – he's not at the Tower."

Steve went lightheaded with worry, overwhelmed with the possibility that not only Rhodey, his friend, but also Tony, his…his _everything_ , was out here somewhere, in trouble. He felt himself sway alarmingly, and with a detached sense of self, felt Natasha lower him to the curb, heard her shout for Bruce.

If Tony wasn't at the Tower, that meant he was – where? Here somewhere, looking, calling desperately for his best friend? Then why hadn't anyone seen him, why hadn't Steve heard him? Was he here, but hurt? Had he even made it here? What if he was feverish and hallucinating, wondering some strange part of the city, defenceless? What if someone took advantage of him? What if someone _took him?_

 _What if Steve had to decide who to look for? Could he leave Rhodey to die, to go find Tony? Would Tony ever forgive him? What if Tony didn't even need finding? What if he did?_

Steve didn't quite hear Bruce's voice, trying to talk him out of his chaotic mess of fear and overwrought emotions. Didn't feel the gentle hands on his shoulders as Bruce leaned in close. Didn't notice Natasha, and then Clint as well, moving to block him from view, to protect their privacy.

He turned his head away, mind cataloguing at a ridiculous speed. Deciding. Decided.

He had to find Rhodey. For Tony.

Then he could worry about Tony.

Plan of action in place, and ready to get on with it, Steve took a deep breath. Noise slammed back into him, people still shouting for "War Machine" and "Rhodey", and he opened his eyes to see-

Colonel James Rhodes running toward them from around the nearest corner, and Steve had barely a heartbeat of unimaginable relief, before he registered what the man was saying, "What's Happening? Have you found him? Where is he? I'm going to kill him!"

And Steve realized, if Rhodes was not in the suit…


	3. Darkest Before Dawn

He was floating.

Floating in a blissful little bubble of self-indulgence, silence consuming his thoughts and dragging them away, soothing them, mellowing them.

The ache of fatigue in his bones had eased, and all tension had long drained from his body, leaving only a lethargic contentment in its wake. He felt weightless, both physically and mentally, as if all his many burdens had temporarily ceased to exist.

But as with all things, this contentment could not last. The water had become tepid, and the bubbles long since dissolved away to a soft fuzz on the surface.

Jim Rhodes sighed, opened his eyes, and heaved himself out of the tub.

* * *

The loose fitting T-shirt clung to his still damp skin, over a pair of sweatpants that had seen better days, likely at MIT, if the faded lettering emblazoned down the leg was any indicator. Leaning into the open door of the fridge, light streaming out behind him, Rhodes poked half-heartedly at a wilting cabbage, eyeing the bunch of shrivelled carrots beside it distastefully.

He _should_ scrape together a stir-fry or casserole. Something with a modicum of nutritional goodness. God knows he was always harping on at Tony about eating something that wasn't sugar, fat or liquid. And speaking of _Tony_ ….Jim was ordering takeout.

He'd returned stateside only that morning, at some ridiculous hour before dawn, from locales and missions that he wasn't at liberty to discuss. It had been near midday when he'd finally been released from the debriefing, and he'd dropped by the tower to leave the War Machine armour for some promised upgrades, much needed repair (bullet holes) and a buff and polish.

He'd intended for it to be a flying visit, no pun intended. Drop in, leave the armour, find Tony and make sure he was still alive, say a quick 'Hi' and maybe grab a bite to eat with whoever was about. Then he'd been going home to sleep for two, maybe three days.

That plan had fallen apart at the 'find Tony' stage, as so many of Jim's plans seemed to do.

The armour safely mounted in its capsule, among various models of red and gold, and a few other colours scattered here and there, Jim had wandered out into the main workshop, finding it empty. He hadn't been surprised, the wild and elusive Tony-beast could occasionally be found in habitats other than its natural engineering den, and was most likely asleep in his room (if Steve had been around to relocate him) or sprawled out over one of the various flat(ish) surfaces of the upper tower levels.

Jim could have left then. He was in town (theoretically) for a few weeks, and so would have plenty of time to catch up with Tony, but the neurotic mother hen that still resided in him from their college days, when Tony had been a tiny, angry (insecure) 14 year old, pushed at him to actually lay eyes on his friend.

Even though Tony had a whole passel of true friends (minders) and a super-soldier to keep him in line (wrapped around his little finger), Jim still worried.

And so he'd wandered up to the higher floors, making idle conversation with JARVIS as he went.

Perhaps that should have warned him. JARVIS had mentioned, at Jim's query, that "Sir has been a little off colour recently", but Jim had taken it with a grain of salt. 'Off colour' regarding Tony could have meant anything- it could have quite literally meant off colour (the great purple dye disaster of the 80's).

Reaching Tony's bedroom, Jim raised a hand and knocked. Once upon a time he would have just stuck his head in, but since _SteveandTony_ had become a thing, Jim didn't like to live quite so dangerously. The man was his childhood hero for gods sake.

A knock, and nothing in reply, Jim did open the door and stick his head in.

Empty.

Steve was out and about most weekdays, Tony though… If he hadn't already been to the workshop, Jim might assume that the genius was on some three day engineering bend. With a sigh, he headed back downstairs to the general living areas to check couches, tables, kitchen benches, staircase balustrading and whatever other surfaces a sleep deprived Tony Stark might decide looked comfortable.

Three living spaces, a kitchen and two bathrooms later, all empty, and Rhodes was beginning to get mildly concerned. He'd then questioned JARVIS, who'd replied, rather ominously, "Sir has determined that I am not to pass on any information regarding his current predicament".

His mild concern became actual worry, and Jim had pulled out his phone and dialled Steve.

The Captain had answered promptly, "Rogers."

"Steve, it's Jim…are you with Tony?" Rhodes had asked, moving through into the next room.

"No – I left early this morning, SHIELD business. Why, what's wrong?' Steve already sounded worried, and that more than anything alarmed Jim. Steve was calm in the face of almost any storm. Any they all knew how Tony could be.

Rhodes asked JARVIS if he could tell Tony that it was Jim, if he hadn't already- thinking that the knowledge that it was just his long-suffering best friend out here, who'd already seen him in every state of debouched and disgraced, might help.

And then he'd answered Steve, "I don't know. Maybe nothing. I just dropped by the tower to leave the armour, and I wanted to stick my head in on Tony, but I can't seem to find him."

"Shit-" Jim barely caught Steve's muttered expletive, but felt his gut clench at the next words, "He was sleeping when I left this morning. He's not well. _Really_ not well. He keeps getting lightheaded and throwing up. JARVIS can't-"

"No, he says that Tony told him he wasn't to say anything, and JARVIS can usually do whatever he likes, so Tony must have used one of the _creator-codes_. JARVIS probably got quite close to breaking it just by telling me that Tony was in a predicament…I think he's trying to help"

Both men heard JARVIS's fervent "Indeed, Colonel".

"JARVIS, can you hear me?" Steve asked, and at JARVIS's affirmative Steve continued, "Creator-overide, R-O-G-E-R-R-A-B-B-I-T."

"Creator Override 'Rogerrabbit' successful, - apologies Colonel, Sir is in the archive room and although unharmed, requires immediate assistance" JARVIS had intoned, and Jim had hung up on Steve saying he was on his way home.

The archive room. It wasn't a room Jim had ever been in. To his best knowledge, no one other than Tony ever had.

On the same level as Tony's workshop, and four doors down Jim skidded to a stop outside the metal door, punching his code into the panel. It lit up red and Rhodes cursed, slowing down to re-enter, hoping to avoid any mistakes. Red again.

"Sorry Colonel, only Sir has access to this room. And the Captain via his _override code…_ " JARVIS explained.

It took only seconds for Jim to realize what JARVIS was telling him, and he punched in R-O-G-E-R-R-A-B-B-I-T, and the panel lit green. The door slid open and Jim stepped into the unknown.

* * *

Jim gasped.

The 'Archive Room' (would forever now be capitalised in Jim's head) was a glorified museum _of all Tony's perceived failures._

In the centre of the colossally massive room was an arc reactor. A huge one, old and dated. Jim could only just read the inscribed panel displayed in front of it "Because it wasn't your idea". Howard's invention then. And Tony's shame for being recognised as the proprietor of an idea that was not his.

It was absolutely ridiculous to Jim- Tony was the creator of the arc reactor in all its glory, from the version in the cave to the one in his chest right now, to the one powering the tower and a dozen other locations worldwide. Howard might have instigated, initialised and started the concept, built a very early prototype- but what Tony had done with that was beyond genius.

Stepping further into the room, Jim took in the hulking remains of Obadiah's bid for glory- the Iron Monger suit, at least, the burnt out skeletal remains. Jim hadn't been aware that there had been remains. The plaque in front read 'Frankenstein's Monster'. Jim wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean exactly, but it clearly indicated some deep level of guilt on Tony's behalf for how Obadiah had become so dark and twisted. Bullshit in its entirety, Obadiah had been a mean son of a bitch, with a heart so corrupt by greed and wealth that it bled black before his end. It had nothing to do with the man who had seen him as a father.

Jim's gaze raked over a half crushed convertible, silver and black and knew from photo's he'd seen od old newspaper clippings, that he was looking at the remains of the vehicle that Howard and Maria Stark had died in. How Tony had gotten this vehicle Jim didn't know, and he couldn't force himself to read the sign, unable to even contemplate why Tony might think that his alcoholic father's drunk driving accident that had also ended his mother's life might have bene his own fault.

Moving further into the room, Jim's gaze picked up red, white and blue. A replica of Steve's Shield.

The reminder of the Captain suddenly dragged Jim's attention back from the mounting levels of horror that rose before him, to the situation at hand. Tony was in this room, and needed help.

"Tony? Tony!?" He called, hurrying past another display of armour- maybe the Hulkbuster, judging from the sheer bulk of the thing. Bruce still wouldn't talk about that day.

"Tony?! Answer me!" Jim yelled again, turning a corner, (an actual corner, built into the centre of the room), and entered an area that was more true to its namesake- the 'Archive room'. Filing cabinets, tens of hundreds of the things lined each wall, and disappeared into the darkness. Jim didn't want to know what was in them.

"Tony! Goddamn it, where are you?! JARVIS? JARVIS!?" When there was no answer from the computer system, Jim panicked, because JARVIS always answered in the tower, the last time he hadn't answered had been in the lead up to the whole Ultron mess, and that had been…

"He's not installed in this room. No one should be in this room but me. Why are you in this room Rhodey? I don't want you in this room. I don't want anyone in this room. I don't want to be in this room."

By the time Tony stopped talking, Jim had managed to follow his thin reedy voice, sad and desolate and so very confused, to the left and down another row of cabinets, to where there were four or five cabinets in a state of complete disarray and destruction.

Whole cabinets tipped over, files torn asunder, paper strewn everywhere; someone had been in a right foul mood when they'd trashed this section of the room.

"Tony? Talk to me buddy. Where are you?" Jim called, trying peer into the darkness, wishing he knew where the damn light switches were.

"I didn't want you to see this. No one should have seen this." A beat of silence and then a sigh, before Tony continued, "But you're here now, so this is me audibly sighing and giving up. I'm stuck under the cabinets, come fucking rescue me."

Jim shook his head, taking in the overturned cabinets in dismay. The things were huge, and had to weigh a tonne. "Are you hurt? Tony? Are you-"

Tony's disembodied voice griped, "No? No. I don't know. Don't think so. Don't feel hurt. Don't know."

"You're babbling. Did you hit your head? Tony?" Jim asked, picking his way over one overturned cabinet to get to a pile of six or seven.

"No. At least I don't think so. My head already hurt before, so I don't know if it hurts more now." Tony answered.

And that didn't even make sense. "Tony, I need you to tell me where you are as best you can, because if I have to lift all of these cabinets we might be better off waiting for Stev-"

"No! No Steve. Steve cannot know. You need to get me out now. I'm under the second one, sort of wedged in, just- get me out of here before Steve-" A rustling and then a solid thump and an unmuffled curse spurred Jim into action.

"Okay- stop trying to get out. Just- I'll lift the top one, and we'll see how we go from there." Stepping forward, Jim grasped the edge of the uppermost cabinet and _heaved._ The thing barely budged. "Jesus Christ, Tony- these things are too heavy- we're talking several hundred Pounds. I can't lift it, and even if I do I don't want to risk unsettling the pile and crushing you."

"No. No-no-no. I have to get out now. _Steve cannot see this._ Just- can you empty out the files, make it lighter? The rest of the pile is pretty stable- that ones like a lid, if you can just-" Tony babbled at him.

"Okay, okay- hang on, I'll empty the drawers." Jim capitulated, before adding as he started to empty the cabinet of its several hundred files, "But you do realise that this is something that Steve should know about, right?"

"No, Rhodey. No he shouldn't. Steve is- Steve is good. Better than good. And all this? This is why I'm not. Why I should never forget that I'm not. He wouldn't understand. He's- he'd- get angry or- or start crying or something."

Tony was the one who sounded like he was about to start crying, and Jim backed off. He'd known Tony a long time, and a crying Tony wasn't someone you ever wanted to deal with. He'd rip out your heart and play the violin with your heart strings.

"Okay- let's just, let's just get you out and go from there." Jim stumbled over his words as his eyes raked across his own name on a folder he was holding, and for a split second he contemplated shoving it into his jacket to read later. But he knew he couldn't. This was all Tony's innards, laid bare.

He shoved the last empty draw away and set himself against the cabinet. Somehow, with the paperwork gone, Jim managed to lever the cabinet off, and with a loud crash it rolled away across the concrete floor.

Looking down, Jim could just make out the top of Tony's head from where he was scrunched into a foetal ball beneath a second cabinet. There was a foot and a half gap at the end where Jim could see Tony, and leaning down he shoved his arms down both sides and managed to wrap them around Tony's chest.

Which was bare. And as soon as he felt the unexpected touch Tony instinctively lurched, his head going back, thumping into Jim's sternum and blue light spilled out around them.

Tony had the good grace to look bashful as he stared up into Jim's downturned face. Neither one offered an apology though. It wasn't what they did. Instead, Jim said, "God, tell me you're not naked".

Tony grinned.

He wasn't.

Within thirty seconds, Jim had manhandled Tony from the hole, and turned him to perch rather ungracefully on the overturned cabinet as he ran his eyes and a cursory hand over him, looking for bumps, blood and bruises.

Thankfully, apart from a few minor bruises, Tony seemed to have gotten away scott free with his filing cabinet pile-on.

Which is about when Tony threw his arms around Jim's waist, smooshed his face to Jim chest and declared, "Hey, Honeybear! You're home! Welcome home!"

"You're very warm" Rhodey noted with distaste, even as he wrapped his arms around Tony in return, exchanging the hug.

Tony pulled back, "Why can't you say it like everyone else. Hot. I'm hot." He complained.

Jim sniggered, it had only taken him 15 years to train himself into stopping giving Tony openings like that.

"And kind of pale. Steve said you're sick." Jim added.

"Steve's got a big mouth" Tony muttered, before replying at proper volume, "I'm fine. We'd better get out of here before bigmouth gets home."

Jim sighed, replying, "You know he just worries about you, right?"

Tony snorted and hopped down off the cabinet, and just kept going down. He'd have face planted into the concrete if Jim hadn't caught him.

"Fine, huh?" Jim snorted as he dragged Tony into a position that could have been called vaguely upright if you were to squint. He slung one of Tony's arms over his shoulder, and wrapped his own around Tony's waist and the two set of in some awkward shuffle-step reminiscent of Tony's alcohol saturated college days.

* * *

It had been after 5pm when Jim had finally left the tower, headed for home. Tony had been an absolute nightmare to wrestle into bed, adamantly proclaiming he was fine, until Jim had managed to successfully smother him with blankets.

Which Tony had promptly thrown up all over.

Jim had simply dragged Tony back out of the bed, (I'm fine!) and bundled him under a blanket on the setee in the corner while he'd gone about changing the sheets. He'd then dragged Tony back to the bed (still fine!) only for Tony to decide he was hungry. Rhodes had tried to warn against anything heavier than dry toast, but Tony had disagreed (Fine now!) Tony's sandwich had made a reappearance five minutes later, although not all over the bed this time. Just all over Tony, the carpet and the rest of the room as the genius had run for the bathroom.

Jim has sighed, dragged Tony into the bathroom, plonked him down on the toilet seat and told him to stay. He'd then rifled through Tony's drawers for a new pair of sweats, and headed back to the bathroom.

He'd then attempted to hustle a mulishly refusing Tony into the shower. It wasn't that Tony didn't want to be clean and dry, he just wanted Jim to leave the bathroom while he showered. Jim, taking in the pale clammy skin, trembling hands and the fact that Tony was swaying where he sat, understandably refused, hence the stalemate.

It wasn't like he hadn't helped Tony clean up before, but he supposed that being blind drunk made modesty irrelevant. He just hadn't thought that Tony would be bothered by being naked in from of Jim of all people. They were closer than- oh.

Well, that was an ill-timed problem on Tony's behalf. And it would make it harder to consciously strip down in front of anyone. Pun intended.

Rhodes would have sucked it up and got on with the job, but thankfully, Steve showed up right about then, and he had no problems manhandling Tony into the shower, and Tony didn't seem to have a problem with having his problem around Steve.

Rhodes had left nearly an hour later, having helped relocated Tony to Steve's old room (after eyeing the mess with distaste), called a cleaner for the penthouse, gather up the required sickbed materials (a bucket, water, Tylenol, throat soothers, etc), and ordered dinner for Steve (Jim was just a nice guy- and he had to have some sympathy for the guy's next few hours.)

Tony had been asleep (finally), and Steve had walked Jim out, thanking for all his help. Jim had answered honestly and without hesitation- "Anytime".

He'd been contemplating saying something the entire elevator ride down, and as they stopped at the lobby floor, he decided that his friendship was what it was because he'd always followed his gut with the kid.

"Steve. At some stage, not today, but one day when Tony is feeling better, you need to use your override on the archive room. That's all I'm saying about it, because Tony doesn't want me saying anything. But I think this is something you need to know".

Steve hadn't said anything, but he'd looked thoughtful as he'd slapped Jim on the shoulder and headed back into the elevator. The last thing Jim heard was "To the Gym please, JARVIS", and the doors whisked closed.

Jim stood for a moment outside, breathing deeply the polluted air of New York and loving it anyway. And then he went home.

* * *

So Jim felt he was very entitled to his soak in the tub and his unhealthy meal of greasy pizza for dinner.

Placing the phone back in its cradle, he padded back into the living room, flopped onto the coach, threw his feet up and flicked on the television.

" _…we interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you live coverage of the fight developing between members of the Avengers initiative, and an as of yet unidentified assailant. The Avengers, led by Captain Steven Rogers who is present on the battle field at the moment. Also responding to the current threat are Hawkeye and the Black Widow. It appears that the assailant is throwing hand grenades or explosives of some description, and has erected some type of force field in a dome around himself. For the past hour the Avengers have been battling to find an opening and avoid the lobbed explosives. For some reason, all attempts at communication in the immediate and surrounding area are down, and we have no way of knowing of the Avenger rewire immediate back up of if they are just biding their time…_ "

Jim snorted at the imbecile reporter, really, "biding their time!?" as he continued to watch the coverage, relaxation of a moment ago having fled as adrenaline pumped through his body. He looked for any indication he needed to fast track it to the Tower and bring the damaged War Machine to the fight.

 _"…and oh! It appears that the back-up has arrived! We're getting reports that the Ironman alternative, 'Iron Patriot' has just arrived on scene and is facing down the assailant… "_

Jim was going to kill him.

Pulling on his boots and grabbing his keys, wallet and phone Jim barrelled out the door, whistling for a Taxi as he raced into the street.

A yellow cab screamed to a halt beside him, and Jim hurriedly gave the driver directions, ignoring the "But that's where the fight-" and throwing a black 'Stark' card onto the dash in front of him, saying, "You know how much that's good for, the faster you get me there, the more I pay".

The driver took off.

As the city whizzed by them, Jim tuned the taxi radio to coverage of the battle and listened with tension creeping up his spine and forming an ache at the back of his skull as Tony and Hawkeye's crazy plan unfolded.

The taxi driver tried making conversation, "That war Machines a hotrod isn't he? You don't hear much about him usually- just Ironman. But listen to that! He's flying at the dome!"

"He's a fucking idiot. Now drive". Was Jim's tactful response.

The driver drove.

They'd pulled to an antsy stop at a red light at a busy intersection, and the battle seemed to climax, the reporters voice climbing higher and higher with each unfolding event.

"… _and it appears that the Avengers have been successful once again. The dome is- WHOAH! We've got a column of fire and- Just in! Reports that War Machine is dow-_ "

And everything went dead.

The radio, the taxi, the traffic lights, all streetlights and surrounding business slights. Everything was plunged into darkness.

Jim wasted not a beat of a second. "That card- ring the number on the back tomorrow, tell the secretary that you are holding Colonel Rhodes black card and request to speak to Tony. You'll be well rewarded".

Leaving the driver to stutter, "Tony? Tony, as in t _hat_ Tony?", Jim took off, running into the darkness toward the giant roaring column of fire jetting into the sky.

* * *

As he rounded the corner at a dead sprint Jim came face to face with a peculiar sight.

Captain America was sitting in the gutter, an absolutely gutted look on his face, Bruce was kneeling in front of him and Widow and Hawkeye where masking them from slightly further back.

The look on Steve's face caused Jim's heart to stutter and then jolt into deafening staccato, that had nothing to do with having just run several blocks.

And then he registered that people were _shouting his name._

And he realized that the others hadn't know that it was Tony in the suit and not Jim himself. How that was possible Jim didn't know, but he brushed it aside as he hurried forward, calling "What's Happening? Have you found him? Where is he? I'm going to kill him!"

Steve's gaze snapped up and his eyes widened in disbelieving hope, and then shadowed as he took in Jim's words, and he realized what must have happened.

Accepting Bruce's hand up, the four of them hurried to meet him, folding him into their group as Steve immediately said, "He's in your suit, isn't he?"

Jim nodded, breathing deeply through his nose as he attempted to get his breathing under control quickly, replying, "That would be a yes. " Ignoring Natasha's dark look of concern, Clint's muttered, "That _shithead",_ and Bruce's heavenward look of dismay, Jim continued, "I saw the fight on the news- right up until the power went out. What's happening?"

Steve answered, "He fell when the power cut. We're having trouble locating him. He could- he could be in the harbour. "

Jim blanched, throwing his gaze toward the expanse of shiny darkness stretching away into the void- the harbour was pretty deep, and quite large. He'd be easy to miss.

"Any communication with him at all? What's the timeline here?" Jim asked, gaze searching out red and gold, despite knowing Tony was in the silver suit.

It was Bruce who answered this time, "All communication is dark, we've got nothing. The suit is both airtight and water tight- he's got maybe a half hour before irreparable damage starts, and it's a rapid downhill after that".

Jim nodded, squaring his jaw determinately, "Well then- I guess we'd better find our idiot before then", and he turned to begin looking.

"Wait- what about them?" Clint asked, and it took Jim a moment to realise who the archer meant. The civilians. They were all still wandering around calling the wrong name.

"What can we do? We definitely do not want it to get out that we don't even know who's wearing our suits." Natasha answered, her point extremely valid, given the recent uproar over secret identities and taking responsibility.

"I don't think-" Bruce started, and then trailed off, unsure.

Steve immediately followed up with, "What? Don't think what?"

Bruce nodded, answering, "I don't think it's likely that any of them will recognise the Colonel in the dark, out of uniform and not in the suit. And Tony being who he is, I don't think it would matter which of our names they were calling…if he hears Jim's name he'll likely start trying to help, so we probably should be listening for a mechanised voice calling for Rhodey."

It was true. Tony was probably more likely to try and help one of his friends than he was to help himself.

"Times running out" Steve said, and with the reminder they turned and hurried away.

* * *

Five minutes passed, and nobody panicked. Panicking wasn't going to help Tony, they still had twenty five minutes and there were the five of them, as well as a whole hoard of civilians. They would find Tony before it was too late.

No one pointed out that they'd already been looking for almost an hour with no luck.

At 10 minutes no one mentioned the fact that the lights had yet to come back on, nor was there any help from SHIELD. They were too absorbed with finding Tony to notice.

At 15 minutes, no one mentioned that half the time was gone. No one mentioned that they were going back over areas they had already searched, having exhausted all other areas they could think of.

At 20 minutes, Jim began barking orders, forming search squads, formulating grids, dictating search methods. He'd done this once before, in the dry, hot desert and he'd been successful then. He'd be successful now too.

At 25 minutes, no one said anything.

At 30 minutes they just…kept looking. For what else could they do?

* * *

Forty-five minutes had passed and no one was saying anything. They were just- still looking. No one was mentioning that for every moment that passed, the likelihood of Tony recovering fully if found were diminishing. No one said that he was likely already brain damaged. No one could even think it. He was Tony. He was brilliant and witty and brave and sarcastic and genius and exasperating and awful and delightful and completely irreplaceable in each one of their lives.

Not one of them was capable of giving up, despite knowing what they were going to find.

They weren't searching for Tony anymore.

Just his shell.

* * *

He was floating.

Floating in a barren desert, the heat stripping away his ability to think, dragging his thoughts away, dulling them, and destroying them.

He ached, an all-consuming _throb_ that ricocheted into his temples and squeezed his chest in a too tight vice, his own panting harsh in his ears, locking out the cacophonous din that surrounded him. He felt heavy, both physically and mentally, as if he were wading through molasses, the blackness creeping up over him, dragging him away.

Tepid water gurgled about his throat and ears, and lapped at the sides of his eyes, masking the tears.

He was alone in this dark wasteland.

Water dripped down and swept across his lips, and he instinctively licked them, the trickle of liquid freezing against his boiling flesh, and he startled at the contrast, him mind clearing for just an instant.

Long enough to realise that he was unable to move more than a twitch in any direction, alone, aching, too hot to think, his brain shrieking inside his skull. He could feel dank soil surrounding his right hand, and filthy water, cold as ice rose and lapped slowly against his face.

And there, trapped in total darkness, Tony realised the arc reactor was dead.

And so was he.

He screamed.

* * *

In the near distance, Jim heard the rasping scream of a harbour gull.


	4. What had he done?

"Tony!?"

He absently noticed the crunch and grind of gravelly sand biting at the leather of his uniform as he fell to his knees, the unnaturally darkened environment failing to illuminate more than the bulky outline of the crumpled armour before him.

"Ton-!"

The gunmetal grey suit should be gleaming darkly, reflective, like oil on water, yet it appeared lacklustre and dull in the blackened evening.

The metal faceplate, bereft of the red/white glow that should seep from lit eye slits, was all but indistinguishable beneath the shadow of his reaching hand.

"Please-"

With shaking, clumsy fingers, he sought out the slight indent at the jawline that would reveal the manual release with a knowing gesture, praying that it was in the same location as that of the Ironman suit.

Cold chill seeped into his gloved hand from metal that should run warm to the touch, and the flexibility fabric of his glove met liquid and darkened from scarlet to ruby red. _Blood red._

The indent was slightly higher, and half a finger pad larger, but the same clever scrape/push activated the override and he heard the familiar hiss of air as the faceplate hinges released, followed by the click of separation.

With a careless bat of his fingers the faceplate slid unnoticed into the dark shadow beneath them, and he reached for-

Blood everywhere. Spider-webbing across sickly grey flesh in a fragile lacework of morbidity. Leaking from the corner of parted lips, soft pink tinged blue.

Beneath the macabre wash of red, pale flesh stood out in stark relief, grey and waxen, sunken around bruised eyes-

Eyes of brown fire that sparked at him, flirted with him, beckoned him, screamed at him, begged him, glowered at him, teased him, tormented him, needed him, spoke to him, loved him-

Looked right through him.

Unseeing. Dead.

An anguished cry escaped him, caught somewhere between a breathless scream and an agonised moan, guttural and rasping as it tumbled unbidden, yet unchecked from his lips, and he needed- _needed to get away, to not be here, to not see, not acknowledge, not think about, not know-_

Steve shoved himself backwards, an awkward scrambling shuffle-

And woke-up when he hit the carpeted floor beside their bed, sheets un an unholy tangle around himself that he thrashed to be free of, as his mind tried to acclimatise to this new input – the tableau of loss and death slow to fade.

 _The armour rested at the fore-front of his mind, dented and deformed._ The normality of their rooms fought for attention, their bed with their soft silk sheets and overabundance of pillows. _Blood, red and glistening where it clung to dark lashes._ A coloured pencil, half under the bed, a tiny screwdriver and a pile of fuses near the base of his bedside table, a StarkPad, and an unfinished novel. _Parted lips strained and twisted, as if stricken by some unbearable agony._ A fluffy red towel dropped haphazardly on the floor, Tony's boxers unceremoniously perched atop.

Slowly, memory of the awful nightmare faded and only the comfort of reality remained.

And in the cold emptiness of their room, alone and unobserved, Steve drew the sheets about himself, curled up against the edge of their bed, and in the dark, wept.

* * *

Tony felt himself stuttering on the edge of a precipice. He could go back- back down into the dark abyss where there was no pain, no hurt, no thought- no _anything_. Or he could push forward, upward, to where the real struggle began, where the dull numbness that weighed him down would become an agony that writhed beneath his skin, a place where pain and hurt and guilt and shame awaited.

But there was also strength there. Kindness, acceptance. Comfort. Appreciation.

Family.

Love.

And Tony wouldn't give that up for anything. _Anything._

And so he pushed forward.

He woke to blaring medical alarms, shouts of nurses and a pain that radiated throughout his body, stealing his ability to think, to breathe.

Tony woke in hospital – alone.

* * *

Tony had woken in hospital alone.

Bruce had hurried into the room several minutes later, soothing hands and soft words, gentle and firm at the same time as he'd restrained Tony and stopped him for tearing out the breathing tube that was thwarting his desperate need for answers.

"Hey! Hey. You're okay- just breathe. Breathe… You're okay, it's just a breathing tube. We weren't expecting you to wake up quite so soon- Just relax, the doctor is on his way-"

Tony caught every third word and understood less, but it didn't matter anyway because his world was fading at the edges, and he was alone.

* * *

The next time Tony woke, he was still alone.

Well, not _alone-_ because Bruce was still there, seated near his bed, and he was pretty sure Natasha was over by the wall, her hair glinting crimson in the moonlight streaming in the window. The lump on the foot of the bed was no doubt Clint.

But Steve was not there. Tony had even waited a moment, waited for Steve to-

But there was no Steve.

No Steve was as bad as being alone. Tony had plenty of experience with alone.

The breathing tube was still in, and to be honest Tony was glad, because the way his lungs felt at that moment, all hollow and empty, he doubted he could inflate them by himself.

Or maybe that was what a broken heart felt like.

Because-

He refused to think it- refused to think it- refused to think it – refus…

 **There was only one reason Steve wouldn't be there.**

If he _couldn't_ be there.

Tony's breath stuttered and then–

The various medical apparatus went haywire.

* * *

Tony woke again.

Slowly and with more struggle than the easy push back into consciousness of the past few times. He felt more tethered, more aware, and absolutely _terrible._ His chest felt like a vice was clamped about it, tightening to an agonising degree with each drawn breath, and then loosening to be comparatively bearable with every exhale. His head pounded and swam, throbbed and ached, his skin burned and felt stretched tight. He kept his eyes clamped tightly shut against the light he could faintly see through his eyelids, afraid of worsening the vertigo he was already feeling.

There was noise though, talking, and it was – not Steve.

Rhodey.

"-such a fright! Damn you, Tony Stark. And damn your stupid, reckless, sensless…Just-"

He sounded – angry. Really angry. Not the half exasperated, half fond irritation that he usually exuded around Tony, but a true, furious rage. But beneath that, beneath the black rage, Rhodey just sounded- _done. Finished._

And it was – it was confronting, because Rhodey was- _Rhodey._

Rhodey was the constant. The first and for a long time, the only. He'd been there, friendly and unassuming when Tony was not yet 15, a child alone in an adult oriented world. He'd cleaned up the messes and picked up the pieces when Tony had been too drunk, high and full of rage to notice he was killing himself at 16. Rhodey hadn't judged, or consoled, nor pushed or pulled or offered advice- he'd simply been there while Tony had tried to come to terms with his grief/apathy response to his parent's deaths.

James Rhodes had seen the worth in Tony Stark long before someone had ever managed to half convince Tony that there might actually be some. He'd dragged Tony back from the edge so many times. _So many._

And maybe that was the problem. What dreadful thing had he done that had finally lost him the one pillar of strength he had always taken for granted, even when he didn't believe he deserved it?

And that's when he had both remembered, and realised he couldn't.

He remembered why Steve was not here, and _could not_ be here.

And he realised he had absolutely no recollection of _what had happened,_ of what had happened to Steve.

But judging from Rhodey's voice-

 _Steve had been Rhodey's pre-teen hero, his teenage inspiration- and his very good friend._

 _A far better one than Tony had ever been._

Whatever had happened?

Had been Tony's fault.

Rhodey was still talking, but Tony had long ago tuned him out, his best friends voice becoming like static fog in the background as he tried to come to terms with what he _knew_ to be true.

Steve was- Steve had-

And it was his fault.

* * *

 _He couldn't remember._

Thinking about Steve brought only images of laughing blue eyes and the sweet curve of amused lips.

Where was the- the blood, the yelling and screaming? He should, he should feel _something_ , he should feel some sense of loss, an ache, a disquiet. Every time he closed his eyes he expected to see-

He remembered nothing. Had there been a battle? There had to have been a battle. _Almost_ had to have been. He could have- he could have accidentally…at home, in the workshop or - but…

Why couldn't he remember?

 _What had he done?_

Why couldn't he remember?

 _What had he done?_

Why couldn't he-

Had he left Steve without back-up? Not responded when he'd called? Did Steve die- Steve- did he… was it alone, calling for Tony- except Tony would never. _Never._ He'd move hell and high water… He'd, he'd have-

He couldn't remember.

Had he- had they been arguing? Had he deliberately- no. No. …. No.

Rhodey was so livid, so furious and Rhodey didn't do that- Rhodey didn't. Just frustrated and upset and exasperated and mad and cross and aggravated and bothered- not, not seriously _"I hate you"_ angry. Not ever. But yes, now.

Why couldn't he remember?

 _What had he done?_

So lost in his desperate chaos of hopelessness, fear and excruciating self-doubt, Tony was completely oblivious to the beeping of the machines that increased in a steady incline until they broke into cacophonous shrieking.

Rhodey leapt to his feet, diatribe of pent up terror and anger forgotten as he was plunged back into the exhausting typhoon of worry, anxiety and certainty that had been his past 24 hours.

He was shunted backwards, away from the bed to make room for the sudden influx of medical professionals, and not liking his inability to be either useful or helpful, he left the room at a half-jog to find Bruce, hoping the scientist would be able to translate the doctorese he would need to understand to be able to help Tony.

* * *

Jim and Bruce saw the doctor leaving Tony's room as they approached, and intercepted him some twenty feet down the corridor, corralling the poor man with worried expressions and concerned questions.

"The Colonel said several alarms went off, what happened, Doctor?" Bruce asked, looking tired and drawn as only someone in a hospital waiting room at 1am could be.

"No need to look so worried, Dr Banner, good news for once! He's starting to come round properly, and the breathing tube was causing considerable distress so I deemed it appropriate to remove at this time… "

"That is good news. Very good news, and I can honestly say that we've been certainly needing some of that just recently" Bruce replied, sharing a relieved grin with Jim before continuing to ask, "And his injuries and other complications?"

The doctor nodded, answering, "Due to some incredible amount of good luck, and likely the suit of armour he was in at time of impact, Mr Stark has been unbelievably fortunate. A serious concussion is the most concerning of his injuries sustained from the actual fall. His right wrist is broken, but a clean break with minimal cause for concern regarding long term effects. Scratches, scrapes, the occasional cut and some of the most impressive bruising I have ever seen make up the entirety of his injuries. As for the pneumonic symptoms, well- the lung congestion has eased, and his fever has broken, but you can expect him to be fatigued easily and prone to lung and chest infections in the immediate future- I recommend extremely light duties and as much rest as he will take. Plenty of fluids."

The look that Bruce and Jim exchanged this time wasn't nearly so relieved. The man obviously had no idea what he was talking about. _Who he was talking about._

"We'll do our best" Jim replied.

They always did.

"He should wake soon then?" Bruce asked.

"Oh, he was mostly awake when I left, if a little confused. I was actually on my way to have one of the secretary's page you, Dr Banner."

With a small incline of his head to the doctor, Jim had immediately turned to Bruce, "I'll go and sit on- I mean, _with_ our idiot. Can you – just let Steve know that he's awake." And the he strode of down the hall towards Tony's room.

Bruce nodded, fishing for his phone as he explained to the Doctor, "Tony is not exactly agreeable to waking up in hospitals. Being in hospital, going to hospital or hospitals in general are also problematic. If you'll excuse me Doctor, I've got to make a phone call."

The Doctor nodded, looking slightly non-plussed as he walked away, but Bruce wasn't concerned. The man hadn't dealt with the Avengers before today, and considering that fact, he'd dealt admirable well. He'd learn, and was perhaps a keeper.

The phone chirped in his ear- indicator that JARVIS was intercepting and directing the call within the towers PA system, and then- " _Bruce?_ "

Steve's voice was- _wrecked._ More than just _'Why are you ringing me at 1am?'_ wrecked. Bruce could understand the super soldier's conundrum. He didn't really know what had been said between the pair before this had all gone down, but he had heard the general gist and knew that Steve was trying to process his way through a major breach of trust, while being absolutely terrified he'd lose the man he loved.

Even over the phone Bruce could clearly hear the fear, the anger and the hurt in the man's voice, so damagingly torn he was.

"Everything's okay, Steve – But Tony's waking up. You know him. He's going to wan- He's going to _need_ to see you." Bruce explained.

Steve had been at the hospital when they'd brought Tony in, lights and sirens blazing and blaring. He'd sat in the waiting room, head in his hands, cowl dropped carelessly at his feet as they'd waited through those first agonising hours for the medical personal to stabilise Tony.

And then, once news had come of Tony entering recovery, the Captain had stuck his head in the private room only once- just _to make sure_ , then he'd left. He hadn't been back since.

Steve was quiet on the other end, but Bruce had the patience to wait him out.

Finally, Steve replied "I know. I need to see him too."

Bruce wasn't sure if he should find that reassuring or ominous, but didn't get the chance to decide, because Rhodes suddenly reappeared back at his side, making a grabbing gesture for the phone.

Curious and concerned, but not seeing the sense in making the man rehash whatever he had to say twice, especially if it was urgent or private, Bruce willingly relinquished the phone with a quick, "Steve-Jim wants to talk to you, here…"

Rhodes took the phone, heading off down the corridor again, gesturing for Bruce to keep pace and listen as he moved with some level of incensed urgency, "Steve? Jim. Tony's awake, and he's gone. Who knows what the hell is going on in his idiot head- We need you to come help find him."

* * *

As Steve yanked on a pair of jeans he resolutely and deliberately did not dwell on any similarities between Tony being missing now and what had happened _that night_.

But in the back of his mind, and deep in his heart, Steve couldn't help the backlash of remembered fear and dread as it welled up within him- _missing, missing, missing…_

Consciously he knew- this was just Tony being Tony. He could count on one hand the number of times Tony _hadn't_ tried to skip out on medical as soon as he'd been physically able, and often well before. There were even less times when he hadn't been successful.

Steve found himself focusing on his anger, in hopes keeping the fear at bay.

It was such a Tony thing to do.

Reckless, stupid, impulsive, careless, selfish-

Such dangerous, stupid behaviour. He was already injured. Hurt and ill, he wasn't functioning at full capacity, either physically, or mentally. He'd be easy pickings for anyone who wanted to harm him, take advantage of him, _take him._ Steve heard the hypocrisy in the thought – but there was _no reason for it,_ in Tony's case, this time. Usually someone or something would benefit from Steve risking himself, and he had the serum, he wasn't- he was less- _breakable._ Didn't Tony realise that his actions always affected more than just himself? He had a team now, a family, _Steve-_ Didn't he think about the fact that he'd be leaving them behind, leaving them to cope with life without him if anything were to happen to him? Didn't he care?

Grabbing a shirt and his wallet, Steve hurried toward the elevator, stooping to sweep up his shoes as he dashed past the small pile in the hallway.

The doors slid closed behind him, and Steve opened his mouth, but JARVIS beat him to it- "To the Lobby, Sir? At once."

"Than's Ja'bis-." Steve replied around the phone and wallet clenched between his teeth, shirt draped over one shoulder as he crouched to pull his shoes on, tying the laces tightly.

"Just find him, Captain. He has no phone or any way for me to track him- It's has been drizzling quite consistently this evening and he was wearing only a hospital issue gown. He was weaving 'drunkenly' and quite obviously disoriented before I lost him at the intersection on 4th-"

"JARVIS?" Steve questioned at the sudden cut off, but standing as the elevator doors swished open silently, exiting.

The reason for JARVIS's sudden preoccupation became apparent almost immediately upon stepping out of the elevator.

"Sir? Sir I must insist that you sit down immediately – you are- Sir!" JARVIS sounded noticeably panicked, which coupled with the systems sudden apparent loss of multi-tasking abilities, was quite concerning. Although, understandable when one took in the scene occurring near the main revolving door of the Avengers Tower.

The tower was shut up tight for the evening, work day over and staff long gone home, and Steve knew that JARVIS must have overridden the security on the front entrance to allow the wretched shivering mess of pale misery to enter the building, because there was no way he'd had the wherewithal to do it himself.

Tony was leaning heavily against the wall beside the door, seemingly wavering on his feet despite the solid foundation at his back. Steve wondered how he was still on his feet at all.

Soaked through, his hair dripped rivulets of water down his face and neck, to be soaked up by the collar of his flimsy cotton gown, transparent with saturation. His skin would be a sickly ashen grey, but for the fact that he was too pale to maintain even that much colour. Even his lips were a colourless slash across his white face, serving to emphasise the almost black bruising that ringed his eyes.

And his eyes-

Even from across the room, Steve could see that they were blown almost ridiculously wide, and so dark they were more alike the glassy black glass eyes found in a taxidermist's workshop than Tony's vividly intense rich golden brown.

His was talking, babbling, something of great importance and incredible urgency- so slurred and rapidly spoken that Steve only picked up two familiar words.

 _Jarvis._

 _Steve._

JARVIS seemed to have a much better Tony-translator, capable of even the most obscure branches of the dialogue, for he answered immediately and with great fervour.

"No, Sir! No. The Captain is fine. You didn't _do_ anything!"

What!?

"Now wait just a minute, Jarvis!" Steve berated loudly, because he understood that the system was loyal to Tony above anything and anyone else, but to be so blatantly forgiving of such reckless behaviour! And Steve was in no way _fine!_

"Captain- I re-" JARVIS started to reply, something inexplicably human, and unbelievably heartbroken tinging his voice.

Steve never found out what JARVIS had been about to say, although later he would be able to make some pretty decent assumptions.

Tony had heard him. Noticed him.

Steve only just managed to catch him before he crashed face-first to the LuxTouch inlay of the stark Industries lobby floor.

Steve was strong; peak of human perfection strong, and Tony's weight was inconsequential within the span of his arms. That didn't mean he wasn't a cumbersome burden, with arms and legs that were somehow both noodle soft and yet stiff with cold, his broken right cradled protectively against his chest. Saturated clothes and dripping hair kept clammy warm skin damp and slippery, and Steve found his own position half curled beneath his lover's limp body difficult to contend with.

Something that was a bit of a conundrum to Steve, was the fact that he generally didn't have a problem with manhandling Tony. In any sense of the word. He thought nothing of dragging Tony out from beneath an engine block by one foot, draping him over a shoulder and carting him off to bed for the first time in three days. The fact that Tony would almost always be reduced to helpless sniggering and squirming against the small of his back before they'd reached the elevator certainly reassured him that it wasn't unappreciated. He hoisted Tony off the couch and slipped in behind him regularly. Moved him out of the way in the bathroom of a morning if he was hogging the sink.

It was never thoughtless, never careless – he would _never_ risk hurting Tony like that, but well-

During sex…. During sex it was the most _incredible_ turn on. For _both_ of them.

Steve had long come to terms with the fact that he liked being bigger and stronger than his lover. It was intoxicating, having Tony writhing and whimpering against him, beneath him, pinned and vulnerable and drunk with it. He didn't know if it stemmed from his own weak puberty, his need to protect, or some internalized need to 'be the man'… and he didn't really care. He liked it. Tony liked it. And that was all that mattered.

Normally, Steve would simply flip, drag and hoist Tony into the position he wanted.

But the Tony he held in his arms felt- and Steve wanted to damn himself for thinking it- felt _weak._

It wasn't a disparagement, even though he knew Tony would go apocalyptic if he even so much as suspected Steve thought him to be so.

 _Stark men are Iron._

Steve didn't think so.

At least, not the one in his arms. This one was- _glass._

Created from such ordinary foundations, into something incomparably beautiful. Tested time and time again by the scathing heat of life's harshest realities, tempered and stronger for it. Look from afar and you'd see only what greatness lay beyond, peer too closely for flaws and you'd see only your own imperfect reflection. From just the right distance, spider webbing cracks and starburst flaws only added to the overall complexity of the stunning piece before you. Cold and at times scathingly sharp, but easily heated by a gentle warm touch.

Fragile, delicate and already far too shattered.

Steve could feel the constant tremor that carried into his own limbs, as he gently and with utmost care, turned Tony toward him, settling him into the secure cradle of his chest. He'd assumed Tony had passed out, but now face up, Steve could see the drawn white lips almost silently moving, a rapid-fire slur of virtually inaudible words that Steve could not hear, but could see, could _feel_. He could feel the frantic urgency, apprehensive longing and the gut churning confusion.

And Steve knew, for all that he was still furious, still felt betrayed, still wanted Tony to _just understand, finally!_ He was still completely and utterly head over heels, traipse the nine circles of hell for him, irrevocably, forever and always and completely and utterly in love with the man.

And Steve wanted to cry and rage at the world, because the decision he'd had to make- the only one that he felt he could make…was going to tear them apart.

* * *

"Steve? You found him?" Jim asked loudly, still thumbing his phone open, the ringtone echoing in the almost empty street.

"He's here, at the tower. Just turned up – looking like a drown rat and half out of his mind. Shock I think- we're gonna need Bruce. And- and I'd really appreciate if you'd come up too. " Steve explained.

Jim felt his heartrate slow almost immediately as relief flooded his system, as far as reassurances went, Captain America was a pretty solid bet. Although, the man sounded audibly upset, even over the phone and Jim wondered what had gone down. "Sure, I'll come over straight away- Bruce is soothing things over with the hospital- having Pepper come sign some power of attorney forms. I don't think they want to be sued by Tony Stark. I'll let him know and he'll be home ASAP."

Jim hung up and text Bruce at the hospital, knowing that the scientist would have his phone practically glued to his hand. Slipping the pone back into his pocket, he turned toward the tower, barely a block away. He set off at a fast lope, knowing he'd likely beat any cab called at this hour of the morning anyway.

A solitary car passed him on the left, and Jim moved away from the curb to avoid the resulting splash, brushing a hand over his short cropped hair, flicking water away. The headlights glinted silver over a half rusted storm water drain and-

 _~In the near distance, Jim heard the rasping scream of a harbour gull.~_

 _Clint had recognised the sound as being_ _ **not that of a bird.**_ _His desperately quiet attempts to get their attention without alerting the civilians would have been amusing in almost any other circumstance. But this – Clint was sure he'd heard Tony, and it hadn't- it hadn't been a reassuring sound. It had already been far too long, how Tony was still- And for how much longer? But to alert the crowd that they'd found, not Jim Rhodes like they were expecting, but Tony Stark himself-_

 _To have been unaware of the switch, or deliberately concealing it from the civilians – each option would have its consequences, and neither pleasant._

 _In the end, Natasha had been selected to distract the civilian searchers, despite wanting to be attending to their missing team mate herself. Of the group though, she was the least likely to be needed in an obvious sense – Steve's strength, Clint's eyes and ears, Bruce's medical knowledge. And Jim – Jim was Tony's oldest and best friend. They also didn't want to risk exposing Rhodes to the crowd too much, should anyone make the connection. With Natasha leading the crowd off on a wild goose chase in the opposite direction, the rest of the present avengers and Jim had stolen off into the dark, following Clint's keen ears._

 _With only Clint's audio memory, and his instincts to guide them, the small group had picked their way across darkened streets, dodging vehicles and debris left from the earlier battle. There had been several moments of confused dismay, Clint sure they were close- beyond close 'on top of!', as they'd stood at the harbours edge, looking out over the inky black water. It turned out that he'd been correct, in the literal sense of the phrase._

 _There was a runoff drain embedded into the levee above the harbour, concealed by the edge of the embankment. By happy coincidence, Bruce had missed his footing as they'd turned to venture further, dispirited and unwary of the steep drop to the water below. With a startled yelp, he'd dropped out of sight, only for his fall to be solidly arrested within a few feet. By the mud-caked, half buried form of the War Machine armour._

 _At first glance Jim had nearly been physically sick- it appeared that the War Machine armour just stopped mid chest- the shoulders and above just- gone. It was only upon closer inspection that he realised that the upper torso of the armour was actually wedged `into` the drain._

 _A rusty broken storm drain grate had been the only thing between Tony and the swirling mess of rank water and surf several feet below._

 _Before anyone could warn him against doing so, or implement a better strategy, Steve was half in the drain with his partner, arms wrapped around the metal waist, taking some of the weight and pressure off the damaged grate._

 _Between Steve, Clint and Jim, with Bruce directing proceedings from a medical standpoint they'd managed to extract Tony from his precarious position and laid the suit face up on the damp ground at the top of the embankment._

 _Steve had removed the faceplate, and they'd watched, dismayed as water had gushed out of the opening. The impromptu waterfall ended, and they'd been met with the visage of a very pale Tony Stark, such incredible heat rolling off him that Jim swore he could feel it from where he was standing._

 _But heat at least meant alive, which one might not have been able to tell just from looking at him. Alive, and alert. If extremely disoriented, delirious ramblings of caves and blood and pain. He'd flinched violently when Steve had reached for him, intending on releasing the rest of the armour, and they'd watched, horror struck, as blood had started to trickle from the corner of his mouth. Bruce had immediately shouldered through, falling to his knees beside the armour encased form._

 _He'd determined the blood was from a bitten tongue, nothing more nefarious._

 _More than one sigh of relief was heard as stripping away the armour revealed the solidly glowing blue from beneath the metal, the arc-reactor glowing strongly. The cold night air seemed to bring some small measure of relief as it kissed his overheated skin, the delirious rambling trailing off and his eyes rolling back in his head as consciousness fled._

 _Steve had lifted Tony's lifeless body from the wet ground, and he'd hurried for the 'dead-zone' perimeter, in the direction of the nearest hospital._

The light faded from the grate and Jim shook his head, braking into a jog as the skies opened above him, rain beginning to fall with serious intent.

He was never, ever telling Tony that he'd mistaken his best friends agonised, terrified, last-port-of-call scream for a _seagull_.

* * *

Tony wouldn't fall asleep.

Steve had carried him upstairs, his gait careful and precise, trying to avoid the startled whimpers that every other jostle elicited. Steve didn't know whether it was a response to pain, or to fear and he didn't particularly care for either. He'd been constant restless movement since Steve had swept him up in the foyer, but underlying it was sheer exhaustion, plain and simple.

JARVIS had opened the door open before them, and Steve had gently deposited Tony on the love seat by the window. Tony had sat, curled in on himself and so forlorn looking. Steve had made short work of the wet clothes, all but peeling the hospital gown and paper trousers off in tatters and bits. Tony hadn't reacted, either positively or negatively, and he'd just sat there as Steve had dried him off as best he could and tucked him carefully into bed.

Tony was so obviously beyond exhausted, mentally fatigued and physically drained, but was fighting sleep with every scrap of determined stubbornness left in him, which knowing Tony, was more than Steve would ever dream possible.

Steve sighed. He was still _so angry._ He didn't want Tony to wake up thinking everything was fine and dandy, because it wasn't! But he also couldn't stand there and watch Tony suffer. He loved the idiot.

Toeing off his shoes and swapping his jeans for the earlier discarded track pants, Steve slipped beneath the covers.

Tony was like _ice_ , and Steve was partially inclined to reason that that might have been the cause of Tony's inability to sleep, but as he gathered Tony to his chest and felt him immediately relax into a boneless slump, Steve didn't think so.

As he waited for Bruce and Jim to arrive, Steve occupied himself by drawing random patterns into the sheet covering Tony's shoulders, and wondering how they managed to get into these sort of messes.

* * *

Tony was asleep when Rhodey arrived, letting himself into the room at Steve's welcome, relayed by JARVIS.

Jim felt his eyebrows raise slightly at the sight that greeted him, Tony curled into a tiny ball, his head pillowed against Steve's waist, Steve's arm curled protectively over his shoulders. The questioning look wasn't in response to any thoughts of inappropriateness- rather surprise, at the closeness between the two, when Steve had been too angry, upset or hurt to even visit his lover while he'd been in hospital.

Steve looked disquieted, correctly determining Jim's questioning glance, explaining in an oddly confused voice, "He wouldn't go to sleep-"

Jim waved him off, replying quietly, "No explanation needed. You love him, his stupid behaviour doesn't change that. It's good."

Steve was quiet for a moment, and Jim could tell that something was eating at him, some enormous worry or concern, and he hoped tha-

"It will", was all Steve said, looking down at Tony with such a forlorn expression that Jim honestly wanted to cry in response.

"Will what?" Jim asked, not following.

"It will change that. Well- not on my end, at least not at first", the blond clarified. Attempted to clarify. Badly.

Jim dropped to sit on the foot of the bed, knowing he should feel awkward sitting on this bed, best friends or not. Especially with Steve wrapped around Tony in it, both of them half naked. But he'd been friends with Tony Stark for far too long to have any such awkwardness impulses left, and so replied, "I'm sorry Steve, but I'm still not following. What is going to change what?"

Steve played with the hem of the sheet draped over his waist for a moment and then squared his jaw, looked up and answered clearly, "I have to bench him. I'm not saying it's necessarily permanent, but I'm also not saying it's not- he just. _He does not learn_. He's had every opportunity to show that he's taking on board the whole teamwork and trust and support thing, and I just start to think he has and then he goes and-"

"Steals the War Machine armour while running a fever of 'supernova' and proceeds to almost get himself killed-" Jim finished for him.

Steve just nodded, looking relieved that Rhodes at least seemed to understand where he was coming from.

Jim was silent a moment, thinking. He needed to be very careful about how he answered this, because while he agreed with one party, the other wasn't exactly wrong either. "I won't pretend I don't understand your decision, just like I won't pretend that I wouldn't make the same one myself in your position. I also won't pretend that I'm not absolutely crushed for him. This is going to devastate him, Steve- he- this team, it just- it means everything to him. And you – I honestly didn't think Tony would ever let himself feel as deeply for someone as he does for you, for this team…"

Steve nodded, "I know. I don't want to drop him. God knows we need him as much as he needs us, he's brilliant, an absolute asset on and off the field. I've never worked so well with anyone else- not even Bucky. But as team leader I can't stand by and watch as his recklessness gets someone killed. Even if it is just himself! And I know – I _know_ that by dropping him from the team I'll lose him. _Completely._ "

Jim went to protest, but Steve carried on, quickly adding, "Oh, maybe not right away, and maybe not in direct result of this… But it will eventually drive us apart. He loves this team, and whether its more or less than he loves me is irrelevant. The negativity every time we respond to a call and he can't, or something happens and he's not a part of it. He'll grow to resent me…And I'd rather that than keep going down the road we're going down – to a very destructive and final conclusion, but-"

"But it's killing you to have to make that decision, knowing what will inevitably happen," Jim finished for him. And Jim was talking about more than just the destruction of the best thing that had ever happened to Tony, the best thing _s._ Being an Avenger, and meeting Steve, falling for Steve… He was also talking about the fact that there was no way Tony would hand over the Ironman suit, would sit out of battles, even on Steve's orders, not like this. And if he was labelled a vigilante- the Avengers would be forced to hunt one of their own.

Steve was nodding, and Jim doubted that the description was any exaggeration at all. Steve looked lifeless at just the _notion_ of losing Tony, and Rhodey knew that Tony- well, Tony hung the stars on Steve. There had to be some way to fix this. To- even just to _patch_ this, until it had time to heal itself.

"He doesn't mean to. For all that it appears to be, its generally not a selfish 'Tony gets what Tony wants' thing. I've known him a long time, I like to think I've gotten pretty familiar with how he operates, and I know it's not a deliberate 'how can I cause trouble' thing. At least, most of the time. He just – _cares_ _much more for the lives of other than his own._ Design flaw. He can't help it, I don't think. You said you thought that he had improved a little, and then-? Well, Steve- I don't think he's ever _cared enough_ about someone's opinion of him to listen when they tell him he's worth more than being a sacrifice for someone else's life. He listens to you? Evan a little – that, my man, is an absolutely _colossal_ win. One I've been trying to have for over 20 years".

Steve looked thoughtful, shifting a little as he replied, "Sometimes. Sometimes I think he does take on board that – well, 'I'd miss you if you died so please stop trying so hard to do exactly that'. It's not even that he takes less risks necessarily – we're superheroes, risk is part of the game. But- he seems to trust my judgment sometimes, even in opposition of his own. And I thought-"

"I do…" his voice was quite, raspy and kind of muffled against Steve's stomach, but undoubtedly Tony.

Steve pulled back a little, "Tony? How-"

Tony grimaced, the little line forming between his eyes a spot on tell for a building headache. "I've – been better, I think." He looked up at Steve then, through hooded lashes and added, "Definitely been a lot worse. Infinitely worse. Hey."

Steve felt like he'd missed something significant, something important, but wasn't sure what, and so he simply replied with a soft, "Hey, yourself".

Jim smiled, moving upward on the bed a little to announce his presence before Tony did anything to embarrass hims- well, to embarrass Steve.

"Sugarbear!" Tony murmured with a grin, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company by my sick bed? I'm not dying am I?!"

Steve flinched at the same time Jim replied, "Not funny Tony. None of this is funny! Is everything a joke to you!?"

Okay, so maybe still some anger there.

It was Tony's turn to flinch, seeming to shrink in on himself, and Jim had to remind himself not to feel bad about it. Tony had brought this on himself with his stupid reckless behaviour.

Tony avoided meeting either of their eyes as he replied, "Sorry, I just thought-"

"Except you didn't, did you!?" Jim shot back, and yeah, now that he was thinking about it again, sitting here face to face with a wise-cracking Tony, he remembered how pissed he'd been. _How afraid._

Even Steve looked a little taken aback by the vitriol in Tony's best friends voice, starting to break in to suggest that everyone take a break, and cool off until Tony was feeling better.

And then Tony had asked, "What did I do?"

Steve saw red.

Shoving away from Tony, dragging himself up onto his knees, Steve shot back, " _What did you do?!_ Are you serious!? You really don't see anything wrong with what you did? Really!? My god, Tony – you almost killed yourself due to your own stupidity!" Tony tried to open his mouth, but Steve cut across him, "Shut it! I know what you're going to say. Your excuses. _'I ran the numbers', 'I had no choice', Probability was 80% chance of success'-_ I don't want to hear it! I thought maybe I was getting through to you. And then you do this! This was- this was _different,_ Tony- _._ "

 _"I don't remember-"_ Tony whispered, shrinking back from the anger Steve was spewing.

Steve didn't even register that Tony had spoken, barely aware of Jim interrupting from where he was now standing from beside the bed, "It _was_ different though – that's what's been getting me too! This was- not just reckless and selfish. You were- deceitful and -"

Listening to Jim, Steve finally started to understand what it was about this particular stunt that had him so- so _angry,_ and he picked up immediately where Jim left off, "Dishonest. Tony- you _lied_ to me. You don't- you've never- You broke my trust! Destroyed it! And what for- to showboat and l-"

"ENOUGH!" Bruce bellowed from the doorway, instantly silencing the tirade. The scientist was damp, drawn and well and truly green around the edges. He visibly clamped down on his control, and bit out through clenched teeth, "Colonel, Steve? Get out."

Both men looked flabbergasted at the mild mannered scientist, so mad he looked about ready to ' _SMASH_ ' anytime now. "Bruce – what-?" Steve asked, baffled and chastened.

Bruce took a deep breath, still every bit as angry, but easing back under control from where he'd been approaching the edge, now that the yelling had stopped. He answered, "He's been in hospital for three days, half comatose with fever. He's somehow managed to 'escape' and just wanted to come home- to you apparently…and I walk in here and you're both looming over him, screaming at him- Look at him!"

Both men turned to look at the target of their righteous angry and-

He was crying. Great silent heaving gasps that he desperately tried to reign in, only trying more-so under their sudden gazes. His skin was a blotchy pale over pale, eyes dark with confusion and glassy with shock.

Bruce felt himself getting worked back up, and took a few more calming breaths, repeating, "Both of you, get out."

Jim started to protest- needing to, wanting to- but Bruce was adamant, if softening in the face of their sudden obvious distress, "Leave. Fix this later- he's too out of it to deal at the moment anyway. Clint's in the den- and could use a hand with something"

Jim nodded, and with a final regretful, remorseful glance at his best friend, he quickly left the room.

"Steve, go." Bruce added, when the blond didn't move to follow.

Steve looked shell-shocked, absolutely gutted, and Bruce knew just how wrapped up in this mess the Captain had been the past few days. Hell, he himself was pretty angry with his best friend, but god – Tony looked beyond awful at the moment, and obviously wasn't in a fit state to be processing any serious emotion, especially anger- given how inclined he was to self-worth issues in the first place.

Steve stood shakily, his own eyes suspiciously glossy, but he nodded and started to leave. Bruce made a note to have Jarvis tell Natasha to keep an eye on him for a while- Bruce suspected shock.

"No! Stay." Tony rasped, voice messy through his tears, but desperate as he added, "Please."

He wasn't just being polite, using manners. He was _begging_ , Bruce realized. Tony Stark was _begging_ Steve not to leave.

Bruce didn't even have chance to say anything, Steve was already back on the bed, wrapped around Tony's trembling, shivering form in a damn fine approximation of a human blanket.

Bruce approved. Especially when the begging stopped, and only Steve's gentle, soothing voice remained, soft and quiet- apologies meant for Tony only.

Bruce could hear Tony muttering his own apologies in return, between every breath, and while he agreed that the man certainly owed more than a few after this debacle, now was not the time.

Stepping up to the bed, Bruce knelt down to eye level, and reached slowly out to capture the cold hand that wasn't trapped somewhere between Tony and Steve. He spoke as one might to an abused animal, wondering what it said that it was his go to voice for most of the Avengers during times of high emotion, "Hey- hey Tony. Deep breaths. That's it. Look at me. Can you- " definitely still in shock, "Thankyou – okay. You're fine. You're home – with Steve and me and-"

Still with the incessant apologies.

Steve flicked a finger, his eyes sweeping sideways to gesture at Tony. Bruce nodded that he should try, with a stern eye to _tread_ _carefully._

Steve pulled just far enough away that he could see Tony's face, could see the muttered apologies tumbling from pale lips, and spoke softly, "Tony? It's okay, sweetheart- I'm sorry too. I never should have yelled at you. Can you - "

Steve realised that Tony was looking at his chin or the corner of his mouth, and dipped his head a little to try to catch Tony's eye. He was thwarted when Tony's gaze dropped to the bed between them, and he hiccupped quietly in misery.

 _'What have I done?',_ Steve thought.

With a gently hand, Steve grasped Tony's chin, turning his face until their eyes met, and Tony fell silent, finally.

Steve apologised, " _I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't have said all those things to you – especially not now."

Tony blinked at him, and then as if realising he had Steve's undivided attention, he enunciated very clearly, " _I don't remember. What did I do? I don't remember._ "

Steve glanced up at Bruce, who was frowning concernedly, before turning back to Tony to clarify, "What don't you remember?"

Tony blinked, and his gaze cleared a little, realising that he was finally going to get some answers.

He explained, with painstaking care, picking his words slowly, "I- don't know what I did. This time. I- I can't remember. You. I woke up and you weren't there- I- I thought I'd- that you were- Gone. Apparently not. So what did I do?"

Steve stared at him. Tony didn't remember? "You don't remember?"

Tony shook his head, and Bruce stepped in- "It could be residual trauma from the fall, or unconscious blocking. What's the last thing you remember Tony? "

Tony looked confused, and the line between his eyes grew as he screwed them shut, concentrating with a grimace, turning to bounce his head lightly against Steve's chest, only the once because Steve caught it there and held it.

Tony thought out loud, "I- woke up alone. I think- Steve wasn't- _What had I done?_ You were always saying that I'd get someone killed- and you- You weren't-"

Steve felt his stomach drop, bottoming out with a solid thud that left him nauseated and angry at himself. How had he felt when he'd thought Tony might have been- might not be- And Tony had woken up alone. To that. Just because Steve hadn't been there.

Bruce was speaking, and Steve forced himself to concentrate as the scientist continued, "-ve's fine. Everyone is okay, except you. Worried, tired and a little worse for wear- but physically okay. Do you remember before waking up?"

Tony didn't want the let it go, the memory of his devastation still so clear in the back of his mind, but Steve's hand squeezing his was enough of a tether to the present that he closed his eyes and thought some more, pressing himself to _remember._

And _there-_ something. He'd been,

"Ah – something about Clint. I wanted coffee, it was – breakfast and he had my mug?" Tony finally replied.

"That was the morning before the battle Bruce identified, a little concerned, a little dubious and quite confused. He'd assumed that the memory loss was related to the fall and subsequent concussion, or the trauma of any of the past three days- but that incident with Clint was long before any of this. Tony had been a little off colour, but not to a degree where brain trauma was likely!

Steve was beyond the intricacies of when and how. He was caught up wondering how he was supposed to deal with this – Tony _had_ still done the things he'd done. But if he didn't remember doing them, could he really be held accountable- especially to such a degree?

"Sir- I am most pleased that you are awake. Captain, Doctor – If you please, I have just realized during a search of the relevant time periods, that I may have stumbled upon some answers for you. If you'll please observe."

* * *

Tony watched as the view panel in the nearby wall came alight, revealing a frozen image of what was definitely his main workshop. The timestamp showed that the footage was from three and a half days ago _._

And that was him.

It was entirely too bizarre, watching the scene unfold when he had absolutely no memory of what had happened. He heard Steve snigger beside him, and glanced up to just in time to see Steve hide a smile and gesture pointedly for him to turn his attention back to the screen. Well, Steve obviously remembered, and Tony had a feeling that this wasn't going to turn out well, at least for him.

And - _What was he doing?_

He was sitting- on the floor? The red and gold encasing him from the waist down was familiar, and the gauntlet in his hand was turned to allow access to the circuitry at the wrist base, so repairs…but _why was he on the floor._

Okay, so it wasn't the most bizarre thing he'd ever done in the workshop, but without the correlating knowledge that went with the memory, Tony could suddenly understand why he might occasionally get some strange looks from his team mates for some of his more eccentric behaviours.

 _"No.",_ And that was definitely Steve. And definitely his angry-exasperated voice. Tony felt himself flinch in time with his onscreen companion. _That voice._

Beside him he felt Steve snigger again, and just knew that man was filing away his reaction into that 'devious apple pie innocence' folder he kept around. Innocent, hah! He was a sassy son of a bitch, and altogether too sarcastic. Tony absolutely loved it.

It didn't stop him from elbowing Steve in the stomach, the tendril of pain shooting up his wrist _totally worth it._

Steve had the good grace to at least look apologetic as he grinned, saying softly over the footage audio, "Sorry – this is from just before the battle, I just- watch, you'll see."

Tony turned back to the screen, unsure if he wanted to _see._

His past self adamantly, and altogether too desperately declared, _"I swear I'm battle ready! -just a minor glitch in the gauntlet's firing-"_

God, no wonder Steve never believed him when he said things like that. Tony had always considered himself a good liar, for all that it wasn't exactly a stellar claim to fame- but _that_? He didn't even believe that, and he was the one who'd said it!

Footage-Steve crossed the room in, _woah- four steps!_ It was a very large room. And he seemed very determined. " _Tony. You've been running a fever of 104 for three days. Not to mention the dizziness and throwing up everything that comes within three feet of your mouth. You really think I'm going to let you anywhere near a battlefield right now?"_

No wonder Steve was determined. Nothing brought out determined Steve like an unwell Tony. Not that he was unwell. Tony was sure that his footage-self had been quite adamantly fine, and who was he to out the poor guy?

 _"Wait- you're, you're benching me!_ _You_ _? The same guy who fought last month with his arm half hanging off?"_ His past-self snarled back, and Tony nodded as he muttered "Exactly! -Thankyou!" under his breath, ignoring the incredulous looks that Steve and Bruce both shot him.

He did wonder though, as he watched himself somehow manage to get to his feet, if perhaps they'd take him a little more seriously if he didn't look like he would fall over if he took a step.

Thank god for the suit.

 _"That's slightly different Tony, and you know it. I was already part of the fight, before I got injured, and I was already healing._ _And_ _I didn't spend the two days before light headed and swaying all over the place because I refused to be in bed where I belonged. It was an all hands on deck situation. We needed everyone."_

Tony felt at a disadvantage, and oddly defensive. He didn't remember any of this, and the fact that Steve and Bruce did- remembered him vulnerable and exposed and weak…

On screen he was arguing back _, "And what if this one is as well? What if you need me? Thor's not here – I'm your only areal support- what if you need me!?"_

God, did he have to sound do desperate? He was mortified by how plaintive he sounded, and knew if he was hearing it, then Steve had definitely picked up on it. How Steve put up with such needy-

 _"We do need you! I need you! Alive, which is why you're not going!"_

Distantly, Tony watched as his on screen counterpart stumbled, and Steve lunged forward to catch him, Tony shaking off his supporting hold harshly, but he was too taken aback by the sheer _emotion_ he was hearing in Steve's voice to pay much attention.

Without the anger and desperation clouding his judgment, all Tony could hear was- _Steve's overwhelming desire to protect him._ And while he still bristled under the unneeded coddling, he could at least understand the need, because it was _his own as well._

He leaned more heavily against Steve's side, and didn't think he was imagining the tightening of the arm, around his shoulders in response.

He watched absently as his past-Tony all but used the workbench as a crutch to stay on his feet, his helmet cradled against his chest like- like a Shield. What did he think he had top protect against? " _You really think you could stop me?"_ Screen Tony snarled.

Beside him, Steve was sniggering again. Tony looked affronted, but privately he thought that Steve's disbelieving amusement was probably more than a little warranted- his onscreen personality looked like he would fall over at any moment, and he was maybe a _little_ on the pale side.

 _"I'll tie you to the bed If I have to"_ on screen Steve threatened.

It was Tony's turn to snort. Like hell he would.

 _"You'd lose my trust if you did. You wouldn't risk that"_ Tony had shot back.

Exactly.

Tony tuned back into the footage to listen to Steve's reply, _"Just like you'll lose mine if you put being Ironman above your own health. And apparently_ _you_ _would risk that."_

Tony turned to glower at Steve, his stare baleful and unforgiving of Steve's harsh demand. Such a cheap shot! He didn't realize that his on-screen persona was reacting in exactly the same manner.

The sudden rage filled shriek snapped his attention back to the screen, and he watched as a red/gold blur sailed through the air and smashed into a set of wall shelves on the other side of the room.

Hah! Take that! Although he did wish he looked less like a petulant two year old. Tony was pissed off on his past self's behalf- how could Steve had used such underhand tactics against him-

Tony wasn't surprised when his past-self pulled away from Steve's embrace, although he did feel bad at the hurt that flicked across his lovers face at the rejection.

 _"Hey – I'm sorry. I am. I just – you're not in any shape and it would be more-"_ Steve had said.

 _"I know- I know. Just - It's fine, Steve. Go. Just -go."_ Tony heard himself reply, his voice downcast and bitter, and felt kind of bad for Steve. The guy had been trying to make him feel better, and Tony hadn't been cooperating.

"Tony-" Onscreen Steeve tried.

 _"Go! Your team needs you, Captain. I'll just be-"_ He hadn't been cooperating at all.

On screen Steve pressed a quick kiss to the side of his throat, at Tony swore he felt the ghost of an imprint as he sat there watching- the edges of a memory?

 _"Please- get some rest"_ was all Steve had said, before turning and leaving Tony alone in the workshop.

On the view Screen Tony meandered across the workshop and crashed face first onto the couch.

Tony was pretty sure that JARVIS was deliberately muffling some of the audio, so as to not offend Bruce or Steve's sensibilities. It was okay though, Tony knew that neither Steve nor Bruce had any illusions that he wasn't muttering unsavoury and probably downright hilarious things about Steve, his lineage, his sexual prowess and whatever other witticism's his sulky lover had been able to come up with.

Shortly after, they'd watched as Tony had fallen asleep. JARVIS quickened the pace of the footage, and several minutes streamed by before they realised that it was not a peaceful sleep, with sweat beading at Tony's brow and turning the collar and back of his darker t-shirt visibly darker on the screen.

Steve and Bruce both correctly deduced that Tony's fever had suddenly spiked.

JARVIS slowed the footage back to its correct pace as the crackly call for immediate assistance for the Avengers streamed into the workshop through the tower PA system, waking Tony from his restless sleep.

They correctly deduced that it had likely originated from some Junior Shield agent, relaying the Steve's garbled request for help all three men had groaned, already able to see where this was headed.

They'd watched as Tony muttered aloud, arguing with himself. They clearly heard, "No. No, Promised. No Ironman. Ironman can't."

And then they'd seen the moment that Tony's gaze had fallen on the damaged war machine armour in its bay at the far end of the workshop.

To his credit, the recording also clearly depicted Tony attempting to call Rhodey, with no answer forthcoming from the receiving end.

By the time Tony had managed to totter over to the silver armour, using whatever support he could in the form of stools, benches, shelving and the wall, he'd been clearly delirious with fever, muttering the same phrase to himself, over and over, " _Rhodey will help. Rhodey will help. Rhodey will help"_.

* * *

The footage faded and the screen reverted to transparent, blending with the wall behind it. Tony was silent, unsure what to say- he had some context, but he still didn't remember what had actually happened.

For the umpteenth, and final time, Tony turned to Steve and asked, "What happened? What did I do?" He needed to know. He needed to fill in the gaps between those silver boots jetting out of the workshop and waking up – alone.

Bruce could see that he was no longer needed. Tony was still experiencing some mild shock, as was Steve, but neither seemed in danger of relapsing, and he was pretty sure that now that between them, they had all the information, they'd be able to sort this mess out without any more screaming.

His bed was calling for him.

"I'm going to leave you two to it – you know where to find me if you need me." He said, both their attentions turning to him as he continued, reaching over to hug a surprised, but reciprocal Tony, saying, "Tony, I'll come by for you in the morning- we're going back to the hospital to get that arm casted. No arguments. Really. I'm really, really glad you're okay, but after the last few days- just don't. he's very close to the surface – You gave me a hell of a fright. Please avoid that next time if you can".

Tony had the good grace to simply nod his agreement.

Goodnight, guys." Bruce called over his shoulder as he exited the room.

"Night, Bruce." Steve called as he left, Tony echoing the sentiment.

* * *

Steve felt one hundred times better and one thousand times worse.

Tony _hadn't_ deliberately betrayed his trust, recklessly endangering himself, and millions of other lives.

This time.

Steve _had_ assumed the worst of him _,_ and had yelled and screamed abuse at him, when he'd been too unwell to understand what was happening, to stand up for himself and make himself heard.

 _Steve had made him cry._ And yes, Tony tumultuous emotions and complete exhaustion were probably mostly responsible for that. _But still – he'd made Tony cry,_

Alone again, the two stared at each other.

And then, simultaneously-

"I'm sorry I-"

"Sorry I-"

Laughter broke the slightly stilted atmosphere and all remaining tension fled. Steve reached out, drawing Tony back into his embrace, revelling in the feel of warm flesh, alive and safe beside him.

"Me first. I'm sorry I reacted without knowing all the details. I'm- not happy that you got hurt and wish you hadn't risked yourself, but I get that you weren't exactly firing on all cylinders at the time – and I'm sorry for making you cry." Steve realised he was kind of hung up on the crying thing, but really – it had just about _broken his heart._

Tony grimaced, a tired feeble attempt at his usual disgust – "I- had something in my eye. Dust. There's lots of dust in this room. And I have allergies." It was pretty weak as far as Tony's excuses went, but Steve appreciated his attempt a being reassuring, enough to roll his eyes in response.

Tony nodded, "Seriously though – I'm sorry I hurt you, or you thought I hurt you, like that. I- I can't swear I never will- but I don't ever, ever want to…I don't want to lose your trust".

Steve could tell that Tony was seriously flagging, having trouble forcing the correct words from his foggy brain, and so slid them down straighter, pulling Tony into his side and dragging the blankets up around them. Things weren't settled, weren't smooth, but- well, they were both still here and that would be enough for tonight.

"Shhh – sleep time I think- you look awful- for you I mean, so you still look great- but well, I'm beat as well. It's been a long few days. We've got plenty of time to go over this tomorrow- who knows maybe _Rhodey will help."_

Tony sniggered a half-hearted "Shut-up and kiss me goodnight."

And so Steve did.


End file.
